Druella Black's Guide to Womanhood
by dress without sleeves
Summary: Previously Ancient and Most Noble. Change was coming, fast and strong, and it swept the Black sisters along with it: Bellatrix to freedom and to madness, Andromeda to independence and to love, and Narcissa to womanhood and to the bitter taste of loss.
1. i used to rule the world

**Author's Notes:** Okay. So. I'm doing it. I'm writing a chaptered story. And it's Harry Potter—of all things.

I will try with everything in me to finish this. It probably won't be too too long, certainly no more than twenty chapters. I just feel like it's time. I'm bored with one shots, and anyway, the sheer amount of stories I have written is absolutely absurd.

Anyway, this will span Andromeda's seventh year at Hogwarts. For reference, I'm trying to stick as close to cannon as possible—which means that Bellatrix is the oldest, Narcissa the youngest. I'm not sure of everyone's exact dates, but I've put Bella and Meda a year apart and Cissy three years younger then Meda, the same age as Sirius.

So.

Okay.

Deep breath, and…

Ancient, and Most Noble

**i used to rule the world**

**--**

"_It'll be a laugh, you'll see," Bellatrix whispered into her ear, her breath sweet and thick from wine. They were curled in the cool grass, tangled in the layers upon layers of lace and satin that were their dress robes; it had taken them an hour to get them on right and just ten minutes to unsettle them. Andromeda's head was spinning: from the liquor, from the heat, from far too much dancing. "It'll all be just like this," Bella was murmuring, her lips brushing against her ear. Stars whirled by overhead, maybe close enough to touch. Close enough to try._

"_Always just like this."_

--

Andromeda swore as she stepped off the train. From inside the nicely cool travel car, summer had looked so charming, green and bright and gloriously school-free. But the stagnant heat that engulfed Kings Cross was anything but appealing—from beneath her heavy robes Andromeda could feel sweat trickling down the back of her neck.

Bellatrix pulled her hat down over her eyes. "Bloody _hell_, it's hot," she muttered, fanning herself with her free hand.

"It'll cool down," Narcissa said with confidence as she tied her blonde hair back in a ribbon. "And anyway, if it doesn't we can make Uncle Alphard put a cooling charm on the backyard. He'll do it if Drommie asks."

"He'll do anything if Drommie asks," Bella agreed dryly. She shaded her eyes with her hand, eyes scanning the station. Andromeda winced at the nickname; she'd never lived down her childhood misnomer. "Oh, look. Cygnus sent the carriage." She pointed. The carriage was waiting patiently by one of the brick columns, a house-elf perched in the driver's seat. Bella had developed a habit of calling their parents by their first names when they were out of earshot; she claimed it was a symbol of affection, but really it was just one of the hundred little rebellions Bella had collected over the years.

As it always was when school let out, Kings Cross swelled with the packed bodies of returning students and their families. The heat made it difficult to breathe as they struggled through the crowd towards their transportation; Andromeda felt a faint panic creeping up her spine as claustrophobia began to set in. She let Cissy's little hands wrap themselves in her robes, pushing her forward even as she secured them together.

The carriage itself was charcoal-colored, lined with silver. It was roomy and comfortable inside the coach; the quarter lights blocked the heat, and Bella quickly charmed the hood to keep the temperature cool. As soon as the three girls were settled, they began to shed their layers of robes—first off were the cloaks, then the sweaters, and at last the long knee-socks required at school. Andromeda stretched her legs and wiggled her toes, happy to be free of the confines of the wool and the bustling station.

Cissy, who loved the attention that the carriages drew, was always sure to have a window seat. As they moved through the station and took off, rising above the heads of the other students, Cissy kept her eyes straight ahead and made sure she didn't once look out the windows.

The lesson had been drilled into them since birth: the best way to garner attention is to pretend you were above it. Andromeda could clearly recall her mother, sitting with one finger looped lazily through the handle of her teacup, barely looking at her daughters as she spoke. Druella Black's Guide to Womanhood, step one: always appear disinterested.

"So when are you and Rodolphus announcing the engagement?" Cissy asked after a moment of silence. She breathed gently on the window and drew her name in the mist.

Bella shrugged, examining her fingernails. "Probably in the next couple of weeks. Druella wanted to do it at my birthday party, but I haven't decided if I'll let her. It's one less ball if I do."

"If you hold off on the announcement until August then Cissy will be able to come," Andromeda pointed out, leaning her head on Bella's shoulder as she released a loud yawn. Train rides always drained her, leaving her limp and sleepy on the carriage trip home. "And you know she wants to."

Cissy crossed her arms over her chest. "Stop talking about me like I'm not here," she demanded. "I don't care if I go to your stupid engagement party or not."

Bella laughed. "Well, if it's of such little consequence to you, I guess I _will_ combine them," she decided, shooting Cissy a condescending smile as the younger girl's face fell. "Of course, that means it'll be in June, so you'll still be stuck with the other children upstairs."

Cissy scowled, flinching at the word 'children'. Since she could walk, she had longed to attend their parents parties and social functions; it seemed that she was born for the world of swirling dresses and stuffy small-talk. But, at fourteen, she was just shy of the age limit, a rule which would be immaterial by August but painfully enforced until then.

Andromeda sent her a sympathetic smile. She remembered how awful she had felt at fourteen, when Bella was allowed to go downstairs and she was stuck babysitting the youngest children of the guests. She used to watch from the upstairs balcony, trying to pick out people she knew--but they all blended together from above, swallowed in the swirling mass of colorful robes and dim lighting. The dresses had all seemed so alive, as if _they _were dancing and the wearer was only secondary.

"Be nice, Bella," she scolded lightly as the carriage touched down in front of Black Manor. A house-elf was waiting, and hurried to open the door for them as soon as the wheels touched the earth. One by one, he helped them out of the coach and then crawled inside to gather their clothing.

--

They didn't see their parents until dinner. It was possible that Cygnus and Druella had been in the house the whole time, but the girls had been taught since childhood never to shout and none of them were particularly inclined to use the energy to search every room in the estate for what would have been a brief reunion.

Their father was working at the table, as always, and their mother twirled her pasta around on her fork but never actually ate a bite of it. "I've sent out invitations for your birthday party, Bellatrix," she said after a few moments of silence, in which Bella, Andromeda, and Cissy had each counted how many times she spun her fork before giving up and setting it to the side. "The date is set for the twenty-fifth."

"My birthday's the twenty-third," Bella said, sounding bored. "But the twenty-fifth is fine. It'll give me some time to shop."

Though she'd been sullen since the disagreement in the carriage, Cissy's eyes lit at the mention of shopping. Andromeda suppressed a smile--her younger sister was incapable of holding grudges. Unlike herself, whose anger slow but long, or Bella, whose temper was legendary and quick, Cissy sulked for an hour or two and then promptly forgot whatever had been upsetting her.

"We can go next week," Andromeda proposed, before taking a bite of her pasta. She had been hoping for an excuse to go to Diagon, anyway--she was in desperate needs of some quills and (more importantly) books. Not to mention that it would be best all around if she and Bella bought their dress robes without their mother present; the prospect of spending hours locked in a small dress shop with Druella Black hardly seemed appealing. "I've run out of parchment, anyway."

Her mother arched her eyebrows in a vaguely disapproving expression that all three girls had inherited. "Don't be so attentive with your men," she scolded as she reached for her wineglass. She gave the liquid a light swirl before she touched the glass to her lips. "You've only just left school. If you start writing every day boys will tire of you. A talkative woman is an unattractive woman, Andromeda."

Something grated underneath Andromeda's skin. She forced a smile at her mother; to her left, Bella simply smirked. Cissy seemed to soak up the words and her silence shifted from lazy to intentional, as if she was practicing already how to disappear when she wasn't being spoken to.

Afterwards, on their way up to bed, Bella murmured, "Oh yes, I'm sure being _quiet_ is how she trapped Cygnus. She was so silent he thought she was mildly handicapped and took pity."

Andromeda laughed. "'Don't be so attentive to your men,'" she mimicked with a toss of her hair. "That woman couldn't magic herself out of a Zonko's bag if she had an instruction manual with her."

Cissy remained silent. She had always disapproved of their constant mocking of their mother; unlike her older sisters, she held in highest regard the rules and customs of high society. Being prim and proper mattered to Cissy, in a way that it never had to her older sisters. She _liked_ tea parties, thrived on the world of social chess. Seating arrangements, the order in which you sent out invitations, what clothing you wore--these things seemed important to her, despite the teasing it wrought.

Bella flaunted the rules, wore wildly inappropriate clothing and drank gin instead of wine; she smoked and swore and threw rowdy parties that never failed to spark gossip. Scandal amused her, and more than that danger amused her--she'd been sleeping with Rodolphus since she was fourteen, despite the impropriety of it all, despite their mother's warnings that "if you let him drink the blood for free, he'll never buy the whole unicorn". It was like she had been born without a drop of fear in her, born with abandon that couldn't be bridled or harnessed by anyone's will but her own.

On the other hand, Andromeda found high society too restrictive, boring--petty. She simply had no interest in playing the social game, had never quite fit in there. Since she was old enough to walk, Andromeda had been slightly on the outside of the Pureblood society; somehow, it just never quite fit her the way it did her sisters. Oh, Bella mocked it and flaunted it, but still she thrived in it, used it to her own advantage. It kept her entertained in direct to proportion to how it bored the middle Black sister.

Often, Andromeda felt that if it weren't for her sisters, she'd have gone mad long ago. She was always the quietest one, the least likely to draw attention to herself; middle child syndrome, perhaps. And yet she never felt overshadowed by her sisters--how could she? Cissy had been as much her baby as her mother's, had been Andromeda's little charge since birth. And Bella…

Sometimes Andromeda wasn't sure that she was her own person, just an extension of her sister's soul. They were opposites in nearly everything, but instead of causing tension they were a perfect balance.

--

It was tradition that the first night of summer was spent on the floor of Bella's room. It had begun the night Bella had returned from her first year and simply never stopped; although never mentioned or technically planned, both Andromeda and Cissy always showed up around midnight, pillows and blankets in hand.

Bella was releasing an owl from her window when they entered. "Who's that for?" Cissy asked curiously as she settled in, her linking her hands underneath her pillow and resting her chin on top. "Rodolphus?"

Since she was the baby, Cissy had been given the "clean" version of the Bellatrix-Rodolphus love story; the one in which they'd met when she was fourteen and had waited, like well-groomed young Purebloods, until her sixteenth birthday to begin their courtship. She thought it was romantic; Andromeda thought it was boring. The real story, of quick liaisons against the barn, dirty letters written in invisible ink, and sneaking out at all hours of the morning fascinated her much more, and she found it--despite all appearances--far more romantic than the stilted, dry suit in Cissy's mind.

"Of course," Bella answered smoothly. "Just letting him know the date of the announcement."

At the mention of the party, Cissy's expression darkened; she cast her eyes downward and pursed her lips. Bella, apparently sorry for having teased her before, lay down beside her and rested her dark head against her sister's pale one. "Don't worry," she soothed, running her fingers through Cissy's hair, "you'll be fifteen in August and then all the parties in the world will open for you." She pressed a kiss just above her ear and earned a smile.

Andromeda flopped down onto her mass of blankets and pillows and ruffled Cissy's hair, even though she knew the younger girl hated it. They were coming on a time when she'd be too old for such handling, and the thought made Andromeda inexpressibly sad. "I remember my first party," she recalled with a giggle. "I accidentally spilled wine all over Desdemona Rookwood."

Bella shrugged. "I set Aunt Walburga's robes on fire."

Cissy sighed dreamily. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, which was charmed to look like the night sky. "Everything will be perfect at mine," she murmured confidently. Then she set her chin. "_I'll_ be perfect."

"Of course you will be," Andromeda agreed. She wrinkled her nose. "You already are."

"We both hate you for it, you know," Bella added.

Cissy's answering smile was smug and undisturbed.

--

Sometime in the middle of the night, Andromeda woke. She knew instantly that Bella was missing from the room from the way that her right side had grown cold. For a moment, she simply lay in darkness, gazing up at the pretend sky above her, counting the constellations. Bellatrix, Andromeda, Sirius, Regulus. All lined up neatly, almost tangled together as they sprawled across the ceiling.

She turned to look at Cissy. Not a star. Not even really a Black, with her coloring--she was the shade of a Rosier, from her soft features to her light hair and blue eyes.

As quietly as she could, Andromeda disentangled herself from her sheets and the arms of her sleeping sister and crept downstairs. "Bella?"

Faint voices could be heard from the living room downstairs; Andromeda crept as silently as she could, feeling somehow out of place, as it if was _she_ doing something wrong.

Bella's voice was unmistakable, but the one that answered her Andromeda could not identify.

"…my birthday," her sister was saying. "I want to do it then."

She poked her head into the living room as Bella climbed to her feet, brushing ash off of her knees. The fireplace was still smoldering, burning a the soft orange of a recently ended floo-call. "What's going on?"

Bella spun, startled, her hand automatically flying to her stashed wand. It took her a few moments, blinking into the darkness, to recognize her sister; when she did, she visibly relaxed. "Oh," she laughed, waving her hand vaguely as if to brush the question away, "Nothing. Just going over some details of the party with Rolph."

"_Now_?"

"It's only midnight in Argentina."

Andromeda frowned. Her hand went automatically to her chest, pressing against the spot on her sternum that always ached when she was confronted with a lie, or even a half-truth. Ironically, this "honesty meter" was the one secret she had never shared with anyone, not even her sisters, not even Bella.

She hesitated a moment too long. Bella flashed an easy smile and looped her arm through Andromeda's, giving it a light squeeze as she guided her sister back upstairs. "You're right about one thing," she said through a yawn. "It's late as all hell. I'm ready to sleep off my N.E.W.T.s and forget Hogwarts ever existed."

Andromeda's stomach clenched at her sisters words, as she thought of the long nine months that lay ahead. Nine months of school without Bella, nine months of being stuck in the time capsule of Hogwarts while her sister's life plowed ahead--into marriage, of all things. The real world.

She was moving forward and Andromeda was stuck, left behind for the first time. She felt a stab of pity for Cissy, who was surely used to the feeling; it was foreign and painful and unwelcome in her stomach.

"Stop worrying, Meda," Bella murmured as they slipped back beneath the blankets. Cissy, seeking companions even in sleep, automatically rolled over and set her head against Andromeda's shoulder. "You always worry too much."

Despite the ache in her stomach and her chest, she fell asleep to the sound of her sisters' gentle breathing--the three of them, tangled on the floor in an echo of the stars on the ceiling.


	2. seas would rise when i gave the word

**Author's Notes:** An absolutely absurd thought occurred to me as I was writing this.

Britney Spears's "Circus" reminds me of Bellatrix. _That's _what was in my head as I cooked up this chapter, a fact which makes me want to laugh—mainly because I think Bellatrix would actually _Avada_ me if she knew.

Er. And was real.

Anyway, this chapter is from Bellatrix's point of view, because I am a fangirl and I'm unashamed. Enjoy!

Ancient, and Most Noble

**seas would rise when i gave the word**

--

_They used Cissy's wireless, though the girl had complained; it was the biggest, and the most easily charmed. Everyone knew that Bellatrix threw the best parties: whereas most of the other families just turned their heads when the young went outside and got drunk off of spare bottles of liquor they found lying about the kitchen, Bellatrix flaunted her activities with the same stop-me attitude that she did everything else. She had a few tables set up in the backyard, and Cissy's wireless hovered above the grass. She'd commandeered a tray of hors d'oeuvres from the kitchen and there were four longneck bottles and a teakettle on every table: Firewhiskey, red wine, white wine, Butterbeer in the bottles and gin in the pot. _

_Bellatrix always served gin in teacups. When she was younger, thirteen, she and Meda snuck downstairs during their parents' Christmas party because Bellatrix wanted to try the liquor. There hadn't been any empty glasses in the kitchen so they'd used teacups, giggling over their drinks like they were the first to ever think of it._

_Meda kicked her shoes off and brought the bottle of Firewhiskey to her lips; she winced at the burn as it went down. She kept it clasped in one hand as she danced, feet sinking into the soft dirt, lightening bugs flashing around her, glowing brighter as the sky got darker. At some point Rolph put his hands on Bellatrix's waist and pulled her to him; she let him. He was warm, like weather, like the liquor, like the burning stars._

_Technically they was supposed to be inside, entertaining, official adults now, but it was her last backyard party and she was damned if they would tell her what to do._

_She leaned against Rolph. The whiskey was going to her head, making it difficult to stand on her own. Meda was still spinning, her arms spread wide and head thrown back, eyes closed. Her hair had fallen loose from its braid and fanned around her as she spun, so fast that Bellatrix wondered if it wasn't the world that was moving around her, and she was the only thing standing still._

--

Bellatrix woke early. Meda and Cissy slept, ensnared in the web of blankets and each other, Meda's soft snores the only sound in the room. Above them, the ceiling had shifted to match the weather, and the pregnant-looking clouds kept the room cast in a grey shadow that covered everything.

Her arm had fallen asleep where Meda's head rested on it, her soft brown hair tumbling over Bella's bare skin, its scent—lilies, maybe?—dancing across the surface. Most people looked relaxed when they slept, but not her sister; Meda's brow was furrowed, her mouth drawn into a thin line.

A fierce surge of possession swept through Bellatrix, and she gently pressed her thumb to Meda's forehead, soothing out the creases. She wondered with a trace of panic: who was going to do this for her in September, when she was in her bed at Hogwarts? Bellatrix would be hundreds of miles away, perhaps in her bed with Rodolphus and perhaps not.

Perhaps out, hidden beneath a mask, wrapped in midnight and in costume.

She didn't have the Mark, and it rankled her. The others had all blanched at the thought of branding her, at the idea of burning into her skin the same calling that they'd taken so willingly on theirs. But they had swept her into this world, right up to the edge of it, and Bellatrix had never been content to settle for _close enough._ She was never close enough, never, not unless she was at the centre, unless she was the wand and everything else was just a charm.

There was _change_ coming, real change, real_ power_, so much of it that it raised the hairs on her arms and neck. She could feel it, pulsing, calling, radiating off of the man Rodolphus called Master, and she _wanted it_.

She had never felt anything to intoxicating, so completely untamed, so wildly powerful. She had never seen his face, had never had the joy of kneeling before him, and yet it seemed to her that this man, this puppet master, this embodiment of everything her age-old family had ever stood for… he was calling for her, reaching for him with his impossibly strong arms, pulling her towards him and not letting go.

All her life, Bellatrix had been surrounded by people bound so tightly that they could barely breathe. By people who demanded she do the same—to bottle up the abandon that flowed through her as naturally as her own blood.

But this man. _This_ man required no such self-mutilation. She had heard him, all those years ago, hiding behind the heavy satin curtains in her aunt's parlour room as Rodolphus knelt, head bowed, and let his Master brand him. She had heard him whisper—and it must have been to her, it could only have been meant for _her_—"All I require is your love. Give me your love and you will have your freedom."

Bellatrix felt her heart quicken dizzyingly. _Freedom._

Cissy stirred. She rubbed her bleary eyes and lifted her head, blinking slowly in Bellatrix's direction. "What time is it?" She murmured, her voice heavy with sleep.

"Not yet eight," Bellatrix whispered back, and gently wriggled free of Meda's grasp. She knelt beside Cissy and gently stroked her hair. "Go back to sleep. I'll come wake you in an hour. We're going to Walburga's for brunch."

Cissy groaned as she closed her eyes. "Sirius will put bugs in my hair again," she grumbled even as sleep reclaimed her.

Bellatrix pet her head once more and then stood. The owl she had sent the night before _had_ been to Rolph, but not with the party's date. He'd asked her to collect a package for him before his return from Argentina, and he'd be back before their trip to Diagon next week; anyway, they weren't the sort of things she was going to find in any old apothecary.

She dressed quickly.

--

Borgin & Burke's technically didn't open until ten, but Bellatrix had long since set up a special schedule with Caractacus Burke that allowed her to come earlier. After all, it wasn't as if she could be seen there during regular hours; she couldn't risk word of her shopping trips get back to her parents so close to the wedding. Merlin only knew what sort of headache they'd cause over it, considering the nature of the shop.

_Such places are for men, Bellatrix_, her mother would say. Druella Black's Guide to Womanhood, step two: it's not where you are; it's where you're seen.

Her mother was a nuisance and a bore, but on at least that point they agreed. It suited Bellatrix to keep quiet on her frequent stops in Knocturn Alley. Subterfuge was frustrating but necessary in these swiftly tilting times. A good name and a relatively clean reputation could go a long way. Rodolphus had explained carefully the importance of appearances, not for society's sake, but for their own. If she played the dutiful Pureblood wife and he the hardworking businessman, who would suspect them? Who would look at the handsome couple and know that one—and soon, _soon_ she told herself, both—of them felt most at home behind a mask?

She'd argued, at first. But in the end, he convinced her—you'll do it to protect your sisters, he'd said, no longer a question. You don't want to draw them into this.

Bellatrix pushed open the door of Borgin & Burke's, scowling. He'd had a point, of course; the thought of Cissy's arm burning dark with the Mark, or Meda's pretty mouth curling around an Unforgiveable … the thought made her vaguely sick. Not that Meda couldn't—that Meda _wouldn't_—utter those two exhilaratingly powerful words, if she had to. If what she loved was threatened.

Oh, no. Bellatrix knew her sister better than that. Meda would say the words and mean them if she thought it was her only option. But they were cut from different stone than little Cissy. The youngest Black just didn't have it in her to kill, not even if it was her only way out, not even if it meant that everything she loved would wither and die. She didn't have the strength.

And that's what Bellatrix was for. She was the hand that reached out and choked when it had to, stole when it had to, killed when it had to.

_Surely Meda will understand that_, she thought grimly. As long as it was explained to her that way, surely her gentle other half would take her hand and whisper thanks. Yes, she would understand—she always understood; she always knew what Bellatrix was thinking before she thought it. All Bellatrix would have to do would be to _explain._

"Ah, Miss Black. You're earlier than usual. I take it your summer has begun well?"

She cast him a cutting look. "I'm not here to waste time," she snapped. "Do you have what I need?"

"I always do. You have expensive taste. Basilisk venom isn't easy to come by."

"If it was, I wouldn't bother with _you_," she muttered under her breath. Everything about Caractacus Burke disturbed her: his eyes, small and beady; his hands, fat and sweaty; his words, silk and low. Without stepping closer, Bellatrix tossed him the purse with the payment in it.

He nodded at a small, inconspicuously wrapped package by the door. "I think you'll find it's all there."

Bellatrix grasped the package and left without thanks.

--

The first sound they heard upon entering Grimmauld Place was screaming. It was unsurprising, really, considering whose house it was; Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion were famous for their screaming matches, and the fights had long since stopped troubling their children. Sirius and Regulus were perched on the steps, ears pressed against the wall as they listened.

Sirius's finger went to his lips as Bellatrix swept into the parlour; he nodded at the door, indicating that he wanted to listen, and she rolled her eyes.

"What are they on about?" Meda asked with a sigh, glancing the clock on the wall. Shouting meant that lunch was delayed, and none of them had eaten before flooing over.

Regulus grinned. He was the baby by three years, only twelve, and by far the more docile brother. Bellatrix could have used "boring" instead, but refrained out of family pride. Perhaps it was their age difference and perhaps a default of their personalities—either way, she'd lost interest in the youngest Black heir the moment he'd been born. "Sirius rode Grandfather's portrait down the stairs," he bragged, "and he went through a window."

Bellatrix smothered a smile. She worried about his loyalties, sometimes, Gryffindor that he was; but when it came down to it she was sure he'd straighten out. Who _didn't_ experiment during Hogwarts? All that dizzying space between them and the ever-present gaze of their parents… she'd been taken in by it, too, once.

She recognized in Sirius a sort of kindred spirit—his abandon, his passion, his inability to be anything but just himself. When he was old enough, perhaps she'd introduce her cousin to Him. He'd make a fine Death Eater—all of the energy and none of the fear. Ripe for moulding.

"You'd think they'd be yelling at _me_," Sirius drawled, shrugging shamelessly. "But apparently Mum's blaming Dad for my being wildly uncontrollable, and Dad's blaming Mum for my being completely mad—as it obviously comes from her side."

"Well, he's right about one thing, anyway," Cissy huffed, folding her arms over her chest as she lowered herself onto the stair next to Reggie. "You've _obviously_ got some sort of serious mental handicap that needs to be addressed."

He scowled at her. "Handicaps can be overcome, Cissy. Noses can't."

Cissy's eyes widened and her hands flew to her face, horrified. "What's wrong with my nose?" She demanded frantically. She turned to her sisters. "Did he do something to my nose?"

Bellatrix laughed; Meda smothered her smile with one hand. "There's nothing wrong with your nose," she soothed tiredly. "He hasn't done anything to it."

"Yet," Sirius muttered darkly, and then yelped as Cissy landed a vicious kick to his ankle. He was about to retaliate when the door swung open; Aunt Walburga emerged, her cheek red with a distinctive handprint.

Trailing after her was Uncle Orion, who had a puffy lip and was missing an eyebrow.

"Oh, you're here," Walburga greeted, her voice. "Come in and sit down."

As she passed, Bellatrix pressed a kiss to her Aunt and Uncle's cheeks. To be honest, she was always a little repulsed by Walburga; the woman stood at almost five-eleven, and her huge frame could easily fill an entire doorway. Her lips were too big for her face, and her chin doubled when she smiled. And though no one ever mentioned it, it was impossible not to notice her slightly lazy left eye, which always lilted to the side when she looked at you.

How that woman had managed to produce two attractive heirs, Bellatrix would never know.

They sat in ascending order by age, with Bellatrix next to Orion and Regulus squeezed next to his mother. Of course it rankled that Sirius was placed above Cissy, but that was politics—they might have been the same age, but he was the male and it was as simple as that.

"Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your engagement, Bellatrix," Orion said around a mouthful of scone. "Rodolphus Lestrange is an excellent match."

"Thank you," she answered with as modest a smile as she could muster. "I know that Father is very pleased. Of course, I think the house in Buenos Aires that we'll be inheriting factors into that."

"_Bella_!" Cissy hissed, flushing red.

"What she means, of course," Meda interceded smoothly, reaching for her tea cup, "is that the house clearly indicates that Bella will be taken care of by the Lestranges in the manner in which she is accustomed. Would you pass a sugar cube, Aunt Walburga?"

Uncle Orion seemed to struggle with himself for a minute and then sighed. "Lisbon is nice this time of year," he said.

--

The letter was waiting when she returned, tied to the leg of a blinking tawny owl.

_Bella,_

_I hope this reaches you, as I am forced to use a borrowed owl. Because I cannot be sure this line of communication is secure, you understand why I must be brief. Our Friend has agreed to meet with you, but nothing can be arranged until the end of summer. Since that's a few months before the wedding is scheduled, you'll be able to rest after the festivities. We can discuss travel arrangements when I return next week. Please try to behave until then._

_-Rodolphus_

Bellatrix's stomach clenched and she pressed the parchment to her chest, just above her heart. Change was coming, fast and hot and strong, and she could feel her feet leaving the ground as it swept her along with it, demanding nothing, giving everything.

Yes, Bellatrix mused looking out the window at the slow summer sky.

Change was coming.


	3. now in the mornings i sleep alone

**Author's Notes: **I am _all_ about Cissy Black right now.

Ancient, and Most Noble

**chapter three:**

**now in the morning i sleep alone**

_The music swirled, tumbling through the ballroom in a gentle wave, sweeping beneath skirts and rustling the curtains as it went. If Narcissa closed her eyes, she could see it, could see where she would stand to catch its highest note, could see where to spin and where to curtsey and where to still. It was effortless, all so perfectly simple, an easy rise and fall—first the eye, catching; then the hand, on the shoulder, one on hem; and last the mouth, a pilgrim's kiss._

_In her mind she was there, pressed into the arms of a handsome man, perhaps older, perhaps named Lucius—it didn't matter. She was draped easily on his arm, her head dizzy from dance and drink, her laughter light and charming, eyes glittering—she was beautiful, the most beautiful she had ever been, glowing brighter than any star, any distant and faded star, ever could._

"_You're not missing much." Drommie's kind voice broke her reverie. She opened her eyes and glanced at her sister—wrapped in her gorgeous dress robes, hair twisted into a braid which hung over one shoulder, mouth a perfect red. Drommie possessed the gentlest beauty Narcissa had ever seen and always envied. "Just a bunch of boring grown-ups getting drunk and Uncle Alphard telling stories about his adventures in India... which I'm beginning to suspect he makes up."_

_She smiled a little before she realized she was doing it. Narcissa was determined to be sour over not being allowed to the party and not even her sister could change her mind. "You're just saying that," she pouted with a sigh. "Two months, Drommie. In two months I'll be fifteen and invited, and I'll be engaged before midnight. You just wait and see."_

"_Oh, I believe you," Drommie murmured, and followed Narcissa's gaze to the dance floor. Lucius Malfoy had both arms wrapped around Desdemona Rookwood. They were spinning and she was laughing in her stupid yellow dress. Drommie leaned in, brushing her sister's shoulder with her own, and confided in a low voice, "Desdemona has had a bit of spinach in her teeth all night."_

_This time, Narcissa let herself laugh._

--

Somebody was going to die if Narcissa Black did not get out of her house. The heat had kept them imprisoned inside Black Manor all week, pacing outside of the locked doors and pressing urgently against the cooling charms. She'd been too afraid to even open a window to send owl post, for fear of the creeping heat slinking inside and poisoning the precious, cool air.

Not to mention that _every bloody time_ she turned around, someone was talking about The Birthday Party. She'd assigned it capital letters in her head, for all the importance it seemed to have—it was supposed to be the social event of the summer. Bella's birthday and engagement party all rolled into one. Everyone who was anyone would be there; all the available bachelors were invited.

As prospects for _Drommie._

Narcissa felt that it was spectacularly unfair that her sister should get a ball that was unofficially dedicated to finding a boyfriend all to herself. _She'd _been going to the parties for three years now—if she hadn't found someone already, it was _obvious_ that Mother and Daddy would have to do it for her. And why not? There was nothing wrong with that. Girls had their parents arrange their marriages all the time.

And anyway, Narcissa knew, Drommie's single status wasn't for lack of options. Her sister had a grace to her, a soft loveliness that crept up on you. She wasn't like Narcissa, or Bella, whose features were striking and immediate; Drommie's beauty was more gradual, growing with every second look. She probably could have been engaged by now, if she'd really wanted to be; she was just too picky, and that was no one's fault but her own.

Narcissa, on the other hand… she knew already whom she wanted (Lucius Malfoy), and how she wanted him (_immediately_), and all it would take would be one night and she'd have him. But if she didn't get downstairs quickly enough the nearest tart in a low-cut dress would snatch him up and everything would be absolutely ruined forever.

Thursday took a hundred years to roll around, and mercifully some of the heat had broken that morning. Still, Narcissa wore her temperature-adjusting robes from Madam Malkin's; she'd be damned if she'd get caught outside without them if the cool streak broke.

They floo'd directly to the Leaky Cauldron. Bellatrix went first (of _course_), followed closely by Drommie, and Narcissa let a few seconds pass before she followed. She never trusted Drommie to step out of the fireplace fast enough, as she almost always forgot something.

Anyway, that was just the way they did things. Bella-and-Drommie and Narcissa. It's how it had always been. She'd never managed to break into their little club and that had never bothered her before. It was just recently. She wasn't a _child_ anymore, or she wouldn't be in two months, and there was hardly any reason for them to keep treating her like she was Reggie's age.

She stepped out of the fireplace, brushing soot off of her robes, and cleared her hair from her face. Sure enough, Bella and Drommie had formed a team huddle over in the corner; but there was a third person with them.

Rodolphus. Narcissa guessed he'd returned from Argentina.

She'd never decided if Rodolphus was handsome more not; he was striking, certainly, with hard, dark eyes and a set chin. She supposed he was good-looking enough for Bellatrix, anyway, if not quite for her. He was no Lucius Malfoy.

She made her way to them and Rodolphus greeted her with a coolly polite half-smile and a kiss on her hand. "Narcissa," he said with a nod. "Lovely as always."

Perhaps she hadn't been fair before. He was certainly a gentleman, and his looks got better on a second look. "Hullo, Rolph," she responded cheerfully. "When did you get back from Argentina? Bella didn't mention she was meeting you today."

"I had business in London last night."

She was saved from answering by Bella's amused laughter. "You certainly did," she hummed, which Narcissa didn't really understand but Drommie seemed to disapprove of. Her middle sister coughed and cut her eyes towards Narcissa in a gesture that seemed to indicate that whatever Rodolphus' business had been, it wasn't to be spoken of in front of her. Bella rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, Meda, like she doesn't already _know,_" she said, although Rodolphus still looked uncomfortable. "I knew all about it at her age."

And then Narcissa got it. Right. Sex.

"You knew more at fourteen then I know _now_," Drommie replied dryly. "Can we at least _pretend_ to be appropriate?"

"It's good to know that at least one of you has some sense of propriety," Rodolphus said, in a voice that couldn't quite be called teasing but couldn't quite be called disapproval, either. Narcissa always had a fairly difficult time reading him, probably because his expression was always so controlled.

She looked around for a clock. "Shouldn't we get moving?" She asked impatiently, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Drommie smiled and reached out to pet her head. "Yes. Bella and Rolph are going off on their own to…" she hesitated. "…look at rings. We'll meet up with Bella at Madam Malkin's so we can pick out her dress. Come on."

Together, they went out into the bright sunshine; it was as hot as ever, but somehow less oppressive, a lighter eat which kissed as their skin but never seemed to settle. Diagon wasn't particularly busy, but Narcissa still refused to hold her hand once they were out of the Leaky—she wasn't twelve anymore, after all, and she didn't want people to think she had to be… led anywhere.

Drommie smiled down at her. "Where to first?"

--

Wizzhard Books was smaller than Flourish and Blotts, tucked between Ollivander's and Twilfit and Tatting's, and rarely had more than two customers at a time. Narcissa loathed it. So much dust and so few windows, and hardly anyone to socialize with; the few women her age that bothered to go into them were either on a mission and didn't have time to talk or were like Drommie and wanted to stand for a million hours and _read_.

"Are you _done _yet?" She moaned after a few minutes of browsing, "I could've crushed a whole goblin uprising in the time it's taken you to get through the _history _section."

Narcissa heaved a sigh, tapping her foot impatiently and pretending she didn't notice the annoyed look her sister shot her at the words. "It took almost fifty years to put down the last troll uprising," Andromeda said dryly.

"That's my _point_."

Drommie sighed. She gazed longingly at the shelves before her, admiring each overstuffed with volume like it was a piece of jewelry or a new house just waiting to be decorated. She ran her hand thoughtfully over a few spines before turning to her sister. "I'll make you a deal," she offered decisively after a moment. "You go ahead, get whatever it is you need. I'll meet you back here at one-thirty."

"You have all the money," Narcissa pointed out. "And without you I always spend too much."

Drommie reached deep into her pocket and tossed Narcissa a small purse, heavy with galleons. "I'm sure Father is used to your spending habits by now," she said with a resigned shake of her head. "Back here at _one-thirty._ If you're late I'll tell Mother you nicked the purse and spent it all on fattening candy."

"But I haven't!" Narcissa protested indignantly, hands flying to her hips. She fought the urge to stamp her foot.

Drommie smiled cheerfully. "Well, don't be late and no one has to think you did."

She was always being bullied. It was horribly unfair. Bella did whatever she liked and got away with it, and Drommie just went along and seemed bored all the time, but Narcissa worked really _hard_ to be perfect and all she got for her pains was two bossy big sisters.

"I don't know what you like so much about bookstores _anyway_," she grumbled, looping the drawstring of the purse around her wrist.

Drommie sighed, pulling a thick tome with gold engraving on the cover from the shelf. "The books," she murmured dreamily, her eyes shining. "The promise of them . . . of power, of knowledge, of worlds like we've never even dreamed of. They're beautiful."

Narcissa stared at her. "They're _books_," she said.

Her sister shook her head. "I wouldn't expect you to understand," she said with a shrug. "Malkin's at two. Don't forget."

With that, she turned away, dismissing her.

--

She bought new perfume, a QuickQuotes Quill, some fresh ink, and a new pair of gloves. Altogether a successful trip. She'd window-shopped at bit at Madam Pimpernelle's, but Druella Black's Guide to Womahood, step three was never to use beauty products, only spells, because they were more reliable and less noticeable, so she didn't go inside.

Besides, the thought of seeing someone she knew was just _too_ embarrassing.

It was almost one-twenty by the time she was satisfied, so she headed back to Wizzhard with her bags in hand. She could see Drommie through the window, her back to Narcissa.

There was a boy with her that Narcissa didn't recognize. He was vaguely familiar, so he probably went to Hogwarts, but he certainly wasn't a Slytherin. He had a nice half-smile and crinkled grey-green eyes; his hair flopped lazily over one eye. He stood a good four inches over Drommie even as he slouched, hands deep in his pockets and weight leaned against the bookshelf.

Narcissa sighed. Her sister was too much of a bleeding-heart, always treating other Houses like they were important.

She went inside with the intention of tricking Drommie into going to Fortescue's with her before heading to Madam Malkin's, but she slowed as she approached, curious to hear the conversation. Her sister was standing relaxed, _Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration _held in front of her like a shield. If it weren't for the frigid air hanging around her, or the tense way that her fingers ticked against the callused binding, Narcissa might have thought her vaguely bored.

"…bollocks," the boy was saying, expression amused as Drommie ran her eyes over him like she was Aunt Elladora and he was a house-elf that couldn't carry the tea tray.

"Are you sure I can't direct you somewhere, Tonks?" she asked coolly. "Perhaps, I don't know, _away_?"

The boy's smile widened. "You just get sweeter every summer, Andromeda Black," he told her, and then his eyes caught Narcissa's. He winked at her and, without another word, bounded from the shop.

"What was _that_?" Narcissa blurted as soon as he was out of earshot.

Drommie rolled her eyes, dropping the transfiguration book onto the already impressive stack and hefting it into her arms. "Nothing," she said in a clipped tone. "An insufferably big-headed Hufflepuff who is _sorely_ mistaken if he thinks he's going to beat me in Charms again this year." Then she smiled. "Come on. Let's go see if we can talk Bella out of buying lingerie and calling it a dress robe, shall we?"

--

They couldn't.


	4. sweep the streets i used to own

**Author's Notes:** In case you haven't noticed, there's a rotation on the POV. It goes: Andromeda, Bellatrix, Narcissa, all three, and repeat. I know it might get a little confusing, so I've tried to make it as obvious as possible who's talking. Please let me know if I'm failing!

Ancient, and Most Noble

**Chapter four:**

**sweep the streets i used to own**

The house smelled of flowers. Their mother had chosen lilies, and they hung from every banister and terrace, their gentle scent settling throughout the rooms, ingrained in the finished wood. Andromeda could smell it from her bedroom, the faintly sweet aroma clinging to her clothes and coating her hair. She didn't mind.

They were Bella's favorite flower.

--

Lilies. Bellatrix thought it was oddly appropriate, the dreamy scent that surrounded everything, flitting through the house like a wood pixie. Bright, whimsical, pretty.

Meda always smelled of lilies.

Bellatrix glanced at her sister. Meda was struggling into her dress robes, an expression of frustrated concentration sprawled across her features. She tossed Bellatrix an exasperated half smile and shrugged, her eyes wrinkled at the corners.

"Want to give me a hand?" she asked, indicating the loose strings in the back of the blue gown. She rolled her eyes. "I don't know why Mother insists on buying me _the_ most complicated robes she can find—I'm completely helpless with them." She cast an amused glance down at her chest. "I'd also like to note the slowly drooping necklines."

Bellatrix laughed, moving towards her sister and gently lacing up the back. Her fingers must have been cold; Meda shivered. She wasn't wrong about the dress, either—the satin back hung in low, interlacing curtains of blue that were tied together by a single strand of white fabric. The front, a low V, left little to the imagination and set off the pale of Meda's skin.

It was a beautiful dress, and her sister looked beautiful in it.

"Druella Black's Guide to Womanhood, step four: low neckline today, engagement ring tomorrow," Bellatrix quoted, stepping away. "As much as it makes me physically ill to admit it, she's not wrong."

Meda frowned, their eyes meeting over her shoulder in the reflected mirror. "I could be engaged if I wanted to be," she said, a touch defensively, stiffening.

"I know," Bellatrix placated.

"I'm just want to focus on school right now."

"I know."

"I'm not avoiding it."

"Meda. I _know._"

Her sister fell into silence, chewing her bottom lip and dropping her gaze in the mirror. "Merlin. By this time next year, you'll… _I'll_…"

"It won't be all that different," Bellatrix said quickly. "After the wedding—"

"I know," Meda interrupted, her throat closing around the words. "I'll be engaged by then. We can . . . buy houses in the same neighborhood."

"Right next door," Bellatrix corrected, smiling suddenly. "And during the day we'll do nothing but sit out on the front porch and drink and seduce passers-by. It won't be all that different," she repeated, and tried with everything she had to make the words sound true.

--

She got dressed up anyway. Her parents refused to let her downstairs, despite the mere two months between herself and her fifteenth birthday, but Narcissa donned her best dress robes and curled her air and put on perfume all the same. She stood in front of her mirror, long silk fabric dripping from her shoulders, and let everything else fade out of her mind. She tried to pretend she was in her sisters' room, the three of them draped in blue and red and green, all laughing and talking and finally a threesome, not a two-plus-one.

The music started downstairs. Narcissa could see it all perfectly: Bella, emerging on the top stair, her arm looped lazily through Rolph's; Andromeda, leaning against whichever boy her parents had set her up with; and at last her mother, slightly in front of her father and standing as tall as she was proud.

And Narcissa, alone, standing before the mirror dressed to kill with no where to go but her own bed.

Narcissa _despised_ being the baby.

--

"I hate this part," Bellatrix whispered, bringing her mouth to Rolph's ear.

He smirked. "I should think you'd like it," he mused, pressing a long kiss to her neck. "Everyone staring at you in that delightfully inappropriate red dress."

She laughed. "That part, I like," she hummed as they started forward, exactly fifteen seconds into the start of the music. "It's my damn mother. She takes an hour to go five steps while the rest of us have to stand and watch."

"Your mother is a fat cow," Rolph said dispassionately, casting his gaze out at the gathered crowd. "Eponine Gamp isn't here."

"Speaking of fat cows."

"My mother likes her for Rabastan."

Bellatrix barked a laugh. "I hope you're able to disabuse her of that notion."

"What's wrong with Eponine Gamp?" Rolph asked, startled. Meda was beginning down the stairs, her hand clamped in that of Demetrius Selwyn. Bellatrix smiled. Her sister was always terrified of tripping on her entrance. It had been her biggest fear ever since Isolde Zabini had done it at her coming out party three years earlier.

"_Besides_ the fact that she always smells of mildew?" Meda murmured, coming to stand on the step behind them and earning a laugh.

"And has the face of a pig," Demetrius added. "I almost mistook her for the entrée at last year's Christmas party."

"You did _not_," Meda laughed, shifting uncomfortably in her dress.

"If he didn't, I did," Bellatrix answered, rolling her eyes. "Face it, Meda, the girl looks like she lost a fight with the giant squid." She paused thoughtfully. "Or maybe she _is_ the giant squid."

Rolph snickered, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes as he said, "All right, so no Eponine Gamp. I'll be sure to tell Mother."

Meda's eyes lit. "Does Rabastan like her?" she asked, raising her eyebrows as her cheeks colored. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Rabastan's _mother_ likes her," Bellatrix corrected. "Anyway, I thought he fancied the Burke girl. She's a far better choice than any Gamp could ever _hope_ to be."

"I hear there's a Selywn up for negotiation," Rolph countered. "Rosalind's almost sixteen, isn't she?"

Demetrius shrugged boredly, tugging at his jacket cuff. "I suppose. She'll probably end up with a Wilkes, though. Our fathers work together at the Ministry and they've gotten very friendly, ever since that halfsie Kirkman took over as Head."

"Proteus is all right," Meda complimented. "He's a year below me. Mother rather favored him for Narcissa a while back, but…" she trailed off, suddenly awkward.

"But what?"

"But his mother is practically _giving_ away their money," Bellatrix finished for her, shrugging. "By the time they've married he won't have enough left to support a house-elf, much less a Pureblood wife."

--

Sometimes Andromeda wished that Bella knew how to keep her thoughts to herself.

"Proteus is all right," she said again.

As their mother finished posing at the top of the stairwell, Andromeda allowed Demetrius to lead her down the remaining steps and to the dance floor. She liked Demetrius; he made her laugh. "I like you in blue," he complimented, spinning her slowly in time with the music. "Although it seems a bit… revealing for your usual taste."

She blushed and smiled, pinning her eyes to her feet and trying not to trip. "You can thank my mother for the neckline," she sighed, shaking her head. "It's her personal form of advertising." She noted the slight hint of red creeping up Demetrius' neck and grinned, finally looking up at him through her eyelashes. "Is it working?"

He swallowed, and Andromeda thought again: _I could be engaged if I wanted to be._

"Quite well," he answered, not meeting her eyes.

--

Narcissa changed quickly, shedding her dress robes and tossing them bitterly onto the floor. They were new, but the house elves would take care of the wrinkles. Out of spite, she retrieved one of Bella's nightgowns instead of her own; if her sisters were to be allowed a night of beautiful dresses and boys, it was only fair that she be permitted to play dress up.

It wasn't like Bella wore them, anyway.

Narcissa tucked her feet into a pair of slippers and went out to the balcony; if she peered over the edge, she could see the outer dance floor below, lit by floating candles and the moon. The yard was empty, for now; it was too early for the youngest guests to steal outside, as they were still entangled in the obligatory meet-and-greets.

Bella had stolen her wireless, and its music swirled, tumbling across the grass in a gentle wave, sweeping beneath skirts and rustling the curtains as it went. If Narcissa closed her eyes, she could see it, could see where she would stand to catch its highest note, could see where to spin and where to curtsey and where to still. It was effortless, all so perfectly simple, an easy rise and fall—first the eye, catching; then the hand, on the shoulder, one on hem; and last the mouth, a pilgrim's kiss.

In her mind she was there, pressed into the arms of a handsome man, perhaps older, perhaps named Lucius—it didn't matter. She was draped easily on his arm, her head dizzy from dance and drink, her laughter light and charming, eyes glittering—she was beautiful, the most beautiful she had ever been, glowing brighter than any star, any distant and faded star, ever could.

--

"All right, it's time," Bella announced after an excruciating half-hour of _aren't-you-married-yet_s and _have-you-met-my-son_s. Andromeda didn't fail to notice the bottle of Firewhiskey clasped in Bella's hand; her sister swirled the liquid temptingly and then spun on her heel, the tiny red dress robe clinging to her as she went.

Rolph swiped the bottle out of her hand and took a sip; he stood in the doorway watching as Bella stepped through and into the yard.

"Ready to go?" Demetrius asked, his voice close to her ear. She turned to smile at him.

"And miss out on all this?" She quipped, laughing. Her sister's laughter rang from outside and that seemed to signal for the rest of their peers; Andromeda allowed herself to get swept into the exodus of young people, tumbling through the door and into the yard with a sense of relief, the evening heat wrapping around her like the drapes on her dress.

Someone put a glass of Firewhiskey in her hand and without hesitation, she brought it to her lips and drank.

--

They used Cissy's wireless, though the girl had complained; it was the biggest, and the most easily charmed. Everyone knew that Bellatrix threw the best parties: whereas most of the other families just turned their heads when the young went outside and got drunk off of spare bottles of liquor they found lying about the kitchen, Bellatrix flaunted her activities with the same stop-me attitude that she did everything else. She had a few tables set up in the backyard, and Cissy's wireless hovered above the grass. She'd commandeered a tray of hors d'oeuvres from the kitchen and there were four longneck bottles and a teakettle on every table: Firewhiskey, red wine, white wine, Butterbeer in the bottles and gin in the pot.

Bellatrix always served gin in teacups. When she was younger, thirteen, she and Meda snuck downstairs during their parents' Christmas party because Bellatrix wanted to try the liquor. There hadn't been any empty glasses in the kitchen so they'd used teacups, giggling over their drinks like they were the first to ever think of it.

"Bellatrix Black, do you _ever_ fail?"

Lucius Malfoy's voice interrupted her thoughts and she smiled for him, liking the way his eyes slid over her even as Rolph's ring weighed down her hand. (There was, after all, no harm in looking.) "Of course not," she answered immediately. "Failure is for common people."

From behind her, Rolph murmured, "I don't think anything could make you common."

She leaned into him, amused by the way his gaze met Lucius' and the wordless power struggle that seemed to wage between them. She liked when Rolph thought himself in charge, even more when he acted like it.

"Come on," she laughed after a moment of letting the men have their fun, "Let's dance."

--

Narcissa sighed. Two months. If they had but waited two months, this whole night would be different. She would be down in the backyard, green dress robes glimmering in the moonlight, small hand wrapped in Lucius' big one. If they had but waited two months, this could have been the best night of her life.

As it was, she was tucked into Bella's slinky nightgown, watching the fun from the outside. As she always did.

"You're not missing much." Drommie's kind voice broke her reverie. She opened her eyes and glanced at her sister—wrapped in her gorgeous dress robes, hair twisted into a braid which hung over one shoulder, mouth a perfect red. Drommie possessed the gentlest beauty Narcissa had ever seen and always envied. "Just a bunch of boring grown-ups getting drunk and Uncle Alphard telling stories about his adventures in India... which I'm beginning to suspect he makes up."

She smiled a little before she realized she was doing it. Narcissa was determined to be sour over not being allowed to the party and not even her sister could change her mind. "You're just saying that," she pouted with a sigh. "Two months, Drommie. In two months I'll be fifteen and invited, and I'll be engaged before midnight. You just wait and see."

"Oh, I believe you," Drommie murmured, and followed Narcissa's gaze to the dance floor. Lucius Malfoy had both arms wrapped around Desdemona Rookwood. They were spinning and she was laughing in her stupid yellow dress. Drommie leaned in, brushing her sister's shoulder with her own, and confided in a low voice, "Desdemona has had a bit of spinach in her teeth all night."

This time, Narcissa let herself laugh. "I don't know _who_ let her show up in _those_ robes," she commented, sniffing. "They're not even a proper yellow, they're…I don't know… _chartreuse._"

Drommie laughed, coming to stand at Narcissa's side, and together they looked down at the swirling mass of robes and bodies. "It's beautiful," Narcissa murmured.

A shout drew their attention. Bella and Rolph stood off to the side, their sister dipped low and her head tipped back. She was laughing, her long fingernails grasping Rolph's robes and her eyes closed.

Drommie breathed a soft sigh. "It's the last of its kind," she said softly, almost to herself. "Next year Bella will be too old to come outside."

Narcissa shrugged. "So we'll throw the parties," she said. "They'll be even better then Bella's. You'll see." She leaned into Drommie's arm and rested her head on her shoulder. Unthinkingly, Drommie's hand came up to gently pet her hair and her sister pressed a kiss to Narcissa's head. "Two months," Narcissa whispered reverently, closing her eyes. "Then everything's going to change."

Drommie's hand stilled and Narcissa felt rather than heard the hitch in her breath. "Not everything," she whispered after a long moment, and when Narcissa looked up at her, her sister's eyes were pinned to Bella.

--

Andromeda disentangled herself gently from Narcissa. She kissed the girl's forehead and then excused herself, backing out of the balcony and leaning against the door once she got inside. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, as deeply as she could, to calm her heart.

Narcissa's words echoed. _Everything's going to change._ She'd been talking about her birthday, of course, her coming out, the end of her childhood—but she was right in a far grander sense. Everything was going to change. Bella was getting married, Andromeda was supposed to find a husband, Narcissa wasn't a child anymore. They'd spent the past seventeen years building a world and now—

"Andromeda? What are you doing?"

She opened her eyes. Tatiana Flint was standing before her, head tilted curiously to the side. Andromeda forced a quick smile and gathered her skirts, pushing away from the wall with a decisive shove and trying to hide the panic that was suddenly creeping up her chest. "Oh, just getting some air," she lied, smoothly as she could. "Narcissa was pouting over Lucius and Desdemona. I wanted to make sure everything was okay."

Tatiana clicked her tongue, and Andromeda allowed her to link their arms. "You encourage her too much. It's kinder not to get her hopes up."

"You don't know my sister," Andromeda said as they came to the large glass doors that led to the back yard. "If Narcissa has her heart set on Lucius Malfoy, I'll bet you a Galleon she gets him."

Tatiana rolled her eyes, smiling tightly, and both of them watched as Lucius set Desdemona to rest at a table and swept off towards the liquor. Andromeda wasn't sure that every pair of eligible eyes weren't on him. Hers were, and she wasn't even interested.

(There was a part of her, a voice that sounded like her mother, which whispered that she was already getting old, that in a few years no one would want her, that she had to grab one while she still had the chance.)

"Narcissa's a baby," Tatiana said with a forced laugh. "_Please. _Lucius is one of the most eligible men right now. He's not going to still be single by the time she turns sixteen."

"Like age has ever stopped _either_ of my sisters," Andromeda laughed, half to herself.

"Well, that's true. I forget that your family has a habit of… disregarding society when it comes to getting what they want."

Tatiana's tone was snide and her expression slightly pinched, and Andromeda stiffened at the thinly veiled insult. She opened her mouth to respond but before she could, Walden Macnair approached, both his hands curled around teacups of gin, and he offered them wordlessly. Both girls accepted, eyes meeting over the rims, flitting to Walden and then back again.

Andromeda finished first. Tatiana's expression fell as Walden turned from her and offered Andromeda his arm; but she begged out, feeling much more generous now that she'd sufficiently put the Flint girl back in her place.

She took a seat at one of the tables, resting her feet on an empty chair and leaning her head back so that she could see the stars.

She poured herself another cup, waiting for the liquor to wash away her worry in a dreamy haze. Tonight she would drink. Let tomorrow be tomorrow's problem.

"I saw that," an amused voice said from behind her, and she smiled as Bella nudged her feet off the chair and dropped into it. With a little pout, Andromeda resituated herself, putting her legs back onto Bella's lap and crossing them at the ankles. Her sister smiled, rolling her eyes.

"If you're going to say that giving up a dance partner is as good as giving up an engagement, I'm going to strangle you myself," Andromeda said dryly.

Bella laughed and shook her head, glancing over at Tatiana with a light scowl. "Hardly. I meant that I saw you put Flint back where she belonged when you let her take Walden."

Andromeda rolled her eyes. "I was being _nice."_

"Maybe you meant to be," Bella acknowledged with a shrug. "Either way, the score is Andromeda: 1, the Flint Tart: 0."

"It is _not_!"

"It was a _compliment,_ Meda. You stood up for the family. Druella would be proud."

Andromeda looked down at her half-empty teacup. "That's a troubling notion," she muttered, and then threw it back.

--

Narcissa crept downstairs, scurrying quickly past open doorways and through the unused corridors to the kitchen. She hadn't eaten dinner, since everyone had been so absorbed in getting ready for the party, and by eleven her stomach was rumbling louder than the Hogwarts Express.

She tied her hair with a ribbon and settled herself on the counter. The house-elves brought her that night's dinner without being asked; she didn't eat the entrée and went straight for the dessert.

Without her mother to make sure she skipped it, Narcissa planned to completely enjoy the cheesecake that Drommie and Bella had surely splurged on earlier.

She was enjoying her third bite when a gentle cough startled her; her closed eyes sprung open and she tried not to choke as Lucius Malfoy noted, "You're the first woman all night to touch her dessert."

Narcissa swallowed and hastily set the plate to the side; she cursed her pale skin as she felt a hot blush sweeping across her cheeks and slid off the counter onto the floor, nightgown riding up slightly as she did so. "I couldn't resist," she said after a moment of strained silence, her voice catching on the last word. "I love strawberries, but my mother doesn't let me have them."

_I'm talking about my _mother_?_ She repeated in her head, horrified. _I am an utter failure._

Lucius laughed, walking towards her and retrieving the dessert from the counter. He handed her the fork and signaled an elf for a spare. "I'll tell you what," he murmured, leaning in, "We'll share the guilt."

His proximity seemed to calm her; Narcissa's pulse stilled and her head was filled suddenly with her fourteen years of training. She laughed and met his eyes, determination settling in her stomach and stomping out all the fear. "How about you take the guilt, and I'll take the dessert."

His eyebrows arched, but the grin on his face was unmistakable; Narcissa felt a surge of victory nip through her. "Lucius Malfoy," he introduced, reaching for her hand and pressed a kiss to it.

She smiled, making no move to remove her fingers from his. "Please to meet you." She glanced at the floor for a moment before confidently meeting his eyes. Bella always said that the first time you said your name was the most important moment in any romantic relationship.

She leaned forward so that her mouth was next to his ear and whispered, "Narcissa Black."

And then, before he could respond, she grabbed the cheesecake off the counter and took a bite.

--

Around two, Meda kicked her shoes off and brought the bottle of Firewhiskey to her lips; she winced at the burn as it went down. She kept it clasped in one hand as she danced, feet sinking into the soft dirt, lightening bugs flashing around her, glowing brighter as the sky got darker. At some point Rolph put his hands on Bellatrix's waist and pulled her to him; she let him. He was warm, like weather, like the liquor, like the burning stars.

Technically they was supposed to be inside, entertaining, official adults now, but it was her last backyard party and she was damned if they would tell her what to do.

Bellatrix leaned against Rolph. The whiskey was going to her head, making it difficult to stand on her own. Meda was still spinning, her arms spread wide and head thrown back, eyes closed. Her hair had fallen loose from its braid and fanned around her as she spun, so fast that Bellatrix wondered if it wasn't the world that was moving around her, and Andromeda was the only thing standing still.

--

Around them, the others were beginning to fade—Desdemona Rookwood was slumped in her chair, head lolled drunkenly to the side; Tatiana Flint had fallen asleep with her head on Walden Macnair's chest; Calliope Rowle was tangled up with Vincent Crabbe behind their mother's rosebushes; Lucius Malfoy was nowhere to be found.

Andromeda collapsed, lying sprawled in the grass and breathing heavily as she gazed up at the stars. "Bella?" she called, voice cracking, and without hesitation Bellatrix broke free of Rolph and stumbled towards her. Her sister plopped to the earth beside her, one arm slung lazily across her stomach, and the familiarity of it all made Andromeda gasp.

Panic was rising in her, fuelled and not quelled by the liquor, and in garbled voice she whispered, "Nothing will be the same after the wedding, will it."

She was right, of course, in the way that Andromeda was always right, but Bella shook her head, as if by pure will alone she could fend off truth. "It'll be a laugh, you'll see," Bella whispered into her ear, her breath sweet and thick from wine. They were curled in the cool grass, tangled in the layers upon layers of lace and satin that were their dress robes; it had taken them an hour to get them on right and just ten minutes to unsettle them. Andromeda's head was spinning: from the liquor, from the heat, from far too much dancing. "It'll all be just like this," Bellatrix was murmuring, her lips brushing against her ear. Stars whirled by overhead, maybe close enough to touch. Close enough to try.

"Always just like this."

--

Narcissa let him walk her as far as the stairs. She would have let him come all the way back to her floor, to her room, to her bed if she'd had the choice, but her mother always said not to give the blood away for free if you want someone to buy the whole unicorn. So when they got to the stairwell she placed her hand on his arm and said, "Thank you."

"Is this as far as I go?" He asked, looking amused and impressed and—something else, all at the same time.

The nightgown she was wearing was far too short for propriety and she'd eaten almost an entire piece of cheesecake, but somehow Narcissa didn't falter as she replied, "I'd bring you further, but unfortunately my father has ways of knowing these things. Goodnight, Lucius Malfoy."

She didn't wait for him to respond; simply turned and walked up the stairs without looking back. She didn't have to.

She knew he'd still be watching.

--

Once Meda fell asleep, Bellatrix crawled out of her grip and collected Rolph from the bar. Her sister's words had rattled her, the way they rang when falling off her sister's lips striking a chord within her and she felt suddenly helpless, even as she whispered that nothing would ever change between them.

So she dragged Rolph inside and pressed against him, dragging his jacket off his shoulders and digging her nails into his shirt. His mouth pressed hotly against her neck, sucking and demanding more access to her skin. She laughed against him, robe slipping slightly off one shoulder. They both smelled of whiskey and gin and the warm summer night; Rolph had had a lightning bug trapped in his hair all evening, and she hadn't been able to bring herself to remove it.

He hiked her skirt up her leg, hand sliding slowly across her thigh, and she let him get just close enough before pulling away.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she murmured against his mouth.

He stared. "Are you _joking_?"

She slipped from his grasp and straightened her dress, purposely leaving her hair mussed. The idea was to look like she was trying to be discreet, not to actually _succeed_. She pressed her mouth close to his ear as she murmured, "If I let you win every time, the game won't be any fun_._"

And then she left him there, breathing heavily, running his hands through his hair and finally freeing the lightning bug, which fluttered hopefully upward for a moment before he snatched it from the air and squashed it in his palm.


	5. i used to roll the dice

**Author's Notes:** ConstantComment beta'd this (that's right—I actually got off my lazy ass and had someone beta something, finally!)

In other news, I love Ted.

Ancient and Most Noble

**five: i used to roll the dice**

"It's just nine months," Bella murmured into her ear as they embraced, giving a light squeeze. "Nine months and then you'll be out of that hellhole for good, and we'll buy houses right next-door, like we planned."

Andromeda forced a smile, cringing as the Hogwarts Express hooted loudly and a cloud of smoke spread through the station. She glared down at her shoes, as if they were somehow at fault for the aching loneliness that was already building in her chest. "Nine months," she agreed, voice stronger than her confidence, and with a deep breath she stepped away. "What can go wrong?"

She kissed Bella's cheek once, quickly, and didn't glance at Cissy as she barked, "All right, let's go."

The youngest Black scowled, clearly offended by her tone, but didn't complain. She simply waved to Bella and flounced in the direction of the train, already shouting to the other fifth year Slytherins, many of whom were hanging out of the windows and beckoning her. She paused at the door and glanced back at Andromeda, a sympathetic cringe sprawled across her face. They were both wondering what would happen once they stepped onto the train; it was their first year riding the Hogwarts Express without Bella. Usually they sat together, the three of them alone, clinging to the fading summer even as they pulled into school.

"Do… do you want me to sit with you?" Cissy's voice was quiet and hesitant, as if she was unsure whether or not the question was allowed to be voiced.

Andromeda shook her head, affection tipping the corners of her mouth upwards. "No, you go on," she said, waving her sister away. "It's all right."

Cissy frowned briefly, eyes flitting away and a hurt expression dashing across her face before she shrugged. "All right, then. I'll see you later." She turned, not glancing back as she disappeared into the crowd.

--

_It's just nine months, _she told herself again, glaring out the window as if the countryside was somehow responsible for the growing distance between her and history. Andromeda dropped her chin into her palm, dragging her eyes away from the window and focusing them on Angela Trimble, the Head Girl, as she earnestly explained that this year was going to be one that focused on House unity and building a stronger community.

"I think we could all benefit from reaching out beyond our comfort zones," Trimble was saying. "Some of the best friends I've made here at Hogwarts have been those outside of Ravenclaw."

"Probably all Hufflepuffs," Adrian Nott muttered at her side, earning a chuckle from Amycus Carrow, the male prefect for the sixth years. "Those mud monkeys will associate themselves with anything that breathes. Mixies like Trimble would fit right in."

He was referring, of course, to Trimble's dubious bloodline: she was at best a Half-blood, since rumor had it that not even her Muggle mother knew who her father was. He'd apparently been a one-night stand that had long-term consequences. It had been the subject of much discussion their fourth year, when the news had first leaked.

Alecto Carrow, Amycus' twin sister and shadow, leaned in. "I've heard her comfort zone is anywhere she can be on her back," she whispered with a giggle. "Or at least, that's where she spends most of her time."

Everyone snickered at the comment, and Andromeda managed a wan smile. She didn't particularly like the Carrow twins; they reminded her of two little hogs, with the disposition to match. When she'd mentioned this to Bella, her sister took to snorting quietly whenever one of them passed by. That's all she could think of now, looking at Alecto with her squished nose and fat cheeks.

"Is there something funny?" Trimble asked sharply, cutting her gaze to the Slytherin table. Andromeda felt the smile fall from her lips and shook her head. Adrian looked like he wanted to say something so she kicked him under the table, shaking her head in warning. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat back against his seat, sulking. "Good. As I was saying, this year Gordon and I really want to focus on inter-House relations. So, on that note we've gotten special permission from Dumbledore to do things a little differently."

A low groan rippled across the room; Andromeda sat up a bit straighter and shared a look with Adrian. Generally speaking, the phrase 'a little differently' could mean nothing but bad news when uttered in a Prefect meeting. Last year it had meant longer rounds, and the year before the Head Boy had tried to make them all write reports on their weekly observations. They'd all dutifully turned them in for about two months before someone had managed, mercifully, to convince him that it was the worst idea since Cockroach Clusters.

Gordon Meadows, the Head Boy, a Gryffindor, drew a tightly rolled bit of parchment from his back pocket. "In the past, nightly rounds have all been done by House. This year, however, they'll be done by level. And instead of partnering up with your Housemate, you've been paired randomly with another prefect from your year."

Adrian's hand shot up. "That's a terrible idea," he said, before either Head Boy or Girl had a chance to call on him. "What if you get paired with someone you hate? It'll make an already torturous experience exponentially worse."

"We'll try not to pair you with someone you can't stand," Trimble told him dryly.

"Great. That's everyone but Andromeda," he said promptly.

Meadows rolled his eyes. "That's too bad, because you've been paired with Melissa Trott."

Andromeda laughed, and at Adrian's glare quickly covered it with a cough and tried to look sympathetic. "Nott and Trott?" Adrian spluttered. "Are you joking?"

"Oh look, you've already got a team name," Meadows deadpanned. "If you have any complaints, you can take them to Dumbledore." Adrian swore under his breath, folding his arms over his chest. Across the room, Melissa Trott wore a horrified expression and had one hand pressed to her stomach, as if to keep herself from being sick. "All right. Next—Black, you're with Tonks, boy Carrow with Roberts, girl Carrow with Phillips…"

Andromeda stiffened, her eyes flying automatically to the Hufflepuff table. Ted Tonks was grinning broadly at her, toffee-colored hair flopping loosely over one eye. He winked and sent her a little ironic salute, tipping his head.

Andromeda dropped her head into her folded arms. "Just _Avada_ me right now," she begged Adrian as the meeting came to a close and the new partners began gathering by the doorway. Tonks pushed himself out of his chair and started towards her, a smirk flipping across his mouth.

"Bad luck," Adrian sympathized with a wince, clapping her on the shoulder. "Wash up before you come back to the car. We don't want anyone getting too dirty."

"Ha, ha," she muttered under her breath as he stalked towards Melissa Trott, both of them regarding the other with ill-disguised wariness. "And you'd think those jokes wouldn't be funny anymore, what with their _constant use."_

Tonks slid into the seat across from her. "Let's get the ground rules out of the way," he announced, leaning on his elbows and perched on the very edge of his chair. She felt herself becoming inexplicably annoyed that he couldn't just _sit_, like a normal person. "First, no insulting my heritage on rounds."

She rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to point out that she'd never uttered a word about the color or relative cleanliness of his blood. "That shouldn't be a problem. I have plenty of other reasons why I don't like you. Anything else?"

"Just one thing." He lowered his voice and rocked towards her, glancing around as if he was about to tell her a secret. When he spoke, his voice was mockingly serious and he pressed a hand to his heart. "Don't fall in love with me. It could never work between us."

For a moment, all Andromeda could do was stare. Then, spluttering, she stood up and pushed him so viciously that his chair tipped backwards and he fell into a laughing heap on the floor. _"That's_ a non-issue," she snarled. "And here's _my_ rule: don't talk to me. Ever. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," he said, grinning stupidly up at her from his position on the floor. She spun away from him, fuming, and shoved roughly through the door. "See you on tomorrow night, Andie," he called, and without turning around she yelled back:

"It's _Andromeda!"_

--

She found the car easily; Adrian waved at her as she passed and indicated the empty seat across from him. Inside, Desdemona Rookwood and Walden Macnair were engaged in what seemed to be a to-the-death chess match that neither looked eager to loose. Rabastan Lestrange and Horatio Gibbon had placed bets on who would win; Lavinia Yaxley and Mariel Bulstrode were pouring over the latest edition of _Witch Weekly._

"How was the meeting?" Rabastan asked, making room on the seat. Andromeda took her place next to him and leaned over Mona's shoulder. She was going to lose to Walden if she didn't move her knight to E7.

"Awful," Adrian whined. "They've got this new inter-House unity thing going. We have to make our rounds with assigned partners… Andromeda's got Tonks and I have Melissa Trott. Trott and Nott. Isn't that just _hilarious._"

Rabastan laughed, reaching across to clap Adrian on the shoulder. "Well, at least she's easy on the eyes. A mixie, though, isn't she?"

"No, Trott's a full-on mud monkey," Mariel said without looking up. "She's as Muggle as they come, from Liverpool. She always brings her Muggle rags to school and wears them to Hogsmeade."

Mona moved her knight to E5. Andromeda sighed. "Trott's not so bad," she mused. "She was in my Ancient Runes class last year. She's smart." She settled against the back of the chair, allowing Rabastan to wrap his arm lazily around her shoulder. He was warm, and more importantly he was familiar.

Lavinia made a gagging sound and Rabastan laughed. "Andromeda Black, the bleeding heart," he teased, almost fondly. "Next thing you know she'll be chumming up with the Weasleys and forming an army of poverty-stricken babies."

"It's too bad about getting Tonks," Horatio added, idly twirling his wand around in his fingers. "I had him in Charms last year. He kept turning Thorfin Rowle into a rabbit when he thought no one was looking."

Despite herself, Andromeda laughed. "Well. He _does_ do that twitchy thing with his nose," she observed mildly, "so at least the metaphor's apt." She reached for the nearest discarded magazine as Mona lost her queen to Walden's rook.

The rest of the ride passed quickly. She bought a Sugar Quill from the candy cart and tried to make it last; Walden won at chess; Lavinia and Mariel were flabbergasted to learn that the lead singer of The Warlocks was marrying a Mudblood. It all seemed so familiar, like summer had never ended at all. They could have been sitting on the porch of their seaside estate or they could have been in the backyard, drinking nicked liquor, and it seemed like little more then happenstance that they should be on the Hogwarts Express, speeding towards school.

But despite how it felt, soon they were tugging into the station and the horn was sounding for them to disembark. Andromeda let Mona link their arms and stuck gratefully by her; when they pulled free of the bustling crowd of students and headed toward the carriages. Sirius waved cheerfully at her from a thick group of his friends and she smiled back, rolling her eyes as she watched him flick a bit of candy at Cissy when she passed.

Andromeda's hand hovered over her head as she beckoned Cissy to her carriage and the look she got was far more excited than expected. "Riding the Express alone was strange," Cissy confessed breathlessly as she caught them, distractedly waving away the group of fifth years she'd been traveling with. "I kept waiting for someone to swear or scream or something."

"Me too," Andromeda admitted with a light laugh, helping Cissy up into the carriage. "And not _once_ did someone mention Rodolphus or the engagement or how to best piss of their mother-in-law to be."

Cissy laughed, relaxing in the middle seat and stretching her legs. "Then my God, whatever did you talk about?" They shared a smile.

Mona hopped in the far door, her blonde hair dropping off one shoulder as she got settled. "Hi, Cissy. I didn't see you on the train."

"I was sitting with my year," Cissy answered, her tone lightly frosted, and Andromeda flashed back to Bella's birthday party and Mona laughing in the arms of Lucius Malfoy. She suppressed a smile. She'd felt bad for her baby sister that night, stuck upstairs in a nightgown while she and Bella danced in gowns. She'd have traded places if she could have gotten away with it; the morning after had greeted her with an incredible hangover that she hadn't been able to sleep off for days.

Mona lowered her voice, taking a conspiratorial tone. If she detected Cissy's attitude, she seemed unaffected. "So did you hear that Drake Jordan is marrying a Mudblood?"

Cissy's jaw dropped and her eyes widened in horror; gasped and grabbed Andromeda's arm for support. _"What?"_ she hissed, color flooding from her face. "_Ew_! How do you know?!"

"It was _all_ over _Witch Weekly._ Apparently they met on some getaway he took to Paris." Cissy moaned pitifully and, apparently having forgiven Mona for her indiscretions, reached over to take her hand in a moment of shared pain.

Andromeda rolled her eyes as Cissy shuddered. "That _completely_ ruins The Warlocks for me."

"I think it's completely revolting," Mona whined, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "I don't understand how someone can do something like that. What's going through his _head_ right now?"

"Probably some crazy notion that he's in love with her," Andromeda suggested dryly, dropping her chin into her hands and looking out the window. "I hear people are doing a lot of that, these days."

Cissy scowled. "This is not a joking matter, Drommie," she said sharply. "He's embarrassing all of us."

"He's the lead singer of a _band_," Andromeda drawled, "whose hit song right now is called _Magic Me Up Some Love_. Let's not get too excited."

"You just don't _get_ it," Mona huffed, sending Cissy a conspiratorial glance.

_No,_ Andromeda thought, suddenly unsettled. _I don't._

--

She skipped the feast. The fifth years took care of the firsties and the thought of listening to another hour of The Drake Jordan Show, she was going to have to rupture her own ear. So she begged off, sighting a headache, and went to bed early. There was a letter waiting on her bed when she arrived, and she smiled—it was Bella's handwriting on the envelope.

_Meda,_

_I spilled a whole bottle of ink trying to write this damn thing. If you were anybody else, I'd have given it up right then. And don't think I didn't notice you tearing up at the station, you crybaby. Stop worrying! I promise you, nothing is going to change. Just endure Hogwarts until Christmas… I'll be staying at Druella and Cygnus' until the wedding out of some antiquated sense of propriety (it's it precious how they think they're protecting my honor?) so we'll have plenty of time to catch up._

_Who did you sit with on the train? You let Desdemona rope you into being all cuddly with her all night, didn't you. She's wanted to be your best friend since your first year, that social climbing little harpy. Merlin, whatever you do—do __not__ tell her __anything__ you don't want getting back to Druella. Desdemona Rookwood has a louder mouth than Cissy in a tantrum._

_Boring day so far. I snuck Rolph in through the window—Druella and Cygnus' window, that is. They were downstairs having their weekly tea party with Walburga and Orion and I had him right there on the bed. Can you imagine what they'd do if they know? Hah! It puts me in absolute hysterics thinking about the expression on that woman's face! And Rolph certainly seemed to like the added danger…_

_I've been thinking about your prospects. I know you're tired of hearing about marriage from Druella, so don't get mad at me—but wouldn't you rather just have the whole thing out of the way? You'll have to just drink the potion at some point. I'm just saying… keep an eye out. No one's saying you have to get married right away—but it would be nice if you were at least Promised. It's a good reflection on the family, and everyone knows that Promises are broken all the time, so it's no pressure on you. Just think about it? For me? I worry about you, all alone at that horrible school._

_All right. That's all for now. Keep an eye on Cissy—you __know__ how she gets._

_Love you and miss you,_

_your Bella_

Andromeda climbed beneath her blankets, clutching the letter to her chest and trying to imagine her sister sitting at her desk writing it, knocking over the ink and swearing as it spilled onto her lap.

She reached into her trunk and pulled out a bit of parchment and ink; her reply was long and boring, and in the end all it boiled down to was the sign-off:

_I miss you more every second,_

_your Meda._

--

She woke with an unidentifiable sense of dread that persisted through breakfast, Transfiguration, and Potions. She ate lunch slowly, trying to figure out what was eating at her, and it wasn't until Ted Tonks caught her eye across the library that she remembered.

_Rounds._

Tonight was her first set of rounds with that maladjusted toerag. She could see it now: Tonks bounding up ahead and then doubling back like some spastic puppy, his hair flopping at her every time he moved, cracking jokes that made no sense and insulting her with a smile on his face, like she was supposed to enjoy it.

He noticed her staring and gave a mock bow, and she tore her eyes away with a scowl. Damned if this wasn't her stupid Black luck.

"What's with the face?" She glanced up. Sirius was standing in front of her, his arms folded over his chest, a playful grin splayed across his mouth. "You look like Cissy when she's having a bad hair day."

"Cissy never has bad hair days," Andromeda answered automatically, and then laughed. "Sorry. It's a reflex."

Sirius shrugged, throwing himself into the nearest armchair and tucking at a loose string on his shirt. "So I heard you've got rounds with the Tonks bloke. Good, I like him."

Andromeda shook her head. "You would."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He frowned briefly before snapping his fingers as if he'd remembered something crucial. "We're both devilishly handsome and undeniably charming?"

"I was going to say 'complete pains in my—'"

"I'm going to cut you off there, because I know Auntie Dru wouldn't approve of the word that was about to come out of your mouth."

She laughed. "She _also_ wouldn't approve of the name 'Auntie Dru'."

Sirius grinned, sitting up straighter in his chair. "I know. Isn't it great? I'm going to try it out at Christmas, and see how many shades of purple I can make her face turn."

"I'll give you a Galleon if you make it up to six."

"I'll _bet_ you a Galleon I can hit ten."

She stuck out her hand. "Deal." They shook, both laughing, and Sirius pushed himself to his feet. He tossed his head, brushing his hair out of his face, and reached across to tug her braid.

"I'll see you later. James and I are planning to—well. It's probably best if you're kept on a need-to-know basis. The less you know, the less you can tell when Dumbledore interrogates you." He lowered his voice ominously. "Just remember, you're my cousin and you love me. And we never had this conversation."

She threw a pillow at him, which he dodged. "Get out of here, you loony."

He winked, saluted, and then turned on his heel and sprinted out of the library like the studiousness was chasing him. Andromeda shook her head, smiling dryly, and settled back into her armchair. Count on Sirius to make her laugh, even with the most horrible—she glanced at Ted—evening stretching out before her.

Of all the Prefects in all the Houses, she _had_ to get stuck with the single most annoying Hufflepuff.

--

The day went by far too quickly for her tastes. Before she knew it, her watch was striking five and telling her that she would be late for rounds if she didn't get a move on.

"I _know_," she told it sourly, tugging on a pullover and lacing up her boots. "It won't kill Tonks to wait five minutes."

She hurried through the common room and out the doorway, tugging at her sleeves as she went, and by the time she made it to the rendezvous point, Tonks was already there, leaning casually against the doors of the Great Hall and fiddling with his wand.

"Sorry I'm late," she said quickly, the words paining her, and he shrugged.

"No big deal." Tonks shrugged, pushing himself off the wall. "I entertained myself by imagining how many places I can string up Mrs. Norris where Filch can't reach her."

Andromeda rolled her eyes and fell into step beside him. "Well, it's good to know you didn't waste your time."

Tonks shook his head with an exaggerated sigh, glancing incredulously at her. "Do you even _know_ how to laugh?" he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Of course I know how to _laugh,"_ she bit back, offended. This was turning out far worse than she'd feared. Maybe Trimble would do her a favor and let her switch. They'd always gotten along, more or less; she'd never made snide comments about her bloodline and once she'd even lent her a sickle at Hogsmeade the year before. She wouldn't make her stay with Tonks for an unbearable nine months, would she?

Would she?

"I only ask because I've never seen it happen," Tonks teased, obviously amused.

"Well maybe you just aren't as funny as you think you are," she snapped. "And you're breaking the rule. Stop talking to me."

He laughed like he thought she was joking. Andromeda closed her eyes and tried to pretend that Tonks was Bella, or Cissy, or someone else she could stand to talk to for more than five minutes.

She found it slightly disturbing that the list of names she came up with was so short.

"Oh come on," Tonks complained, "if we're going to be together all year, we might as well get to know each other."

"I'm Andromeda. You're Ted. There you go. Now stop talking to me."

"What's your favorite holiday?"

"Christmas. Stop talking to me."

"Candy?"

"I can't eat candy. Stop _talking to me."_ Tonk's jaw dropped and he stared at her, horrified. He stopped walking, stunned into stillness, and she happily kept on, leaving him to fall behind. After a moment, he ran to catch up and put a comforting hand on her arm. "Why can't you eat candy?" he asked gently, as if he was inquiring after a sick loved one.

She shot him a confused look. "Because I'm seventeen."

"So what, you're too _mature?"_ he demanded, sounding personally offended.

This time it was Andromeda that stopped walking. Was he kidding, or really just this stupid? "No…I'm of marriageable age. Druella Black's Guide to Womanhood, Step five: Indulgence makes you fat, and no one loves a cow."

Tonks shook his head, peering at her with an unidentifiable expression. "That's the stupidest bloody thing I've ever heard," he declared after a moment of thought. "You're the prettiest girl I know. You can afford a Pumpkin Pasty now and then." Despite herself, she blushed, and debated thanking him as he began rummaging around his pockets.

At last she took a breath. "Thank—"

"Here." Tonks outstretched a hand towards her. A Sugar Quill was in his palm. "It's not a Pasty," he said brusquely, not meeting her eyes as he shrugged, "But Quills aren't bad, either."

She stared. "What?" she asked, looking blankly at the candy in his palm.

"Take it."

"I'm not—"

"For the love of hippogriffs, Andromeda Black, take the candy or I swear on my life I'll tell everyone you made a pass at me in a broom closet."

She glared, snatching the candy from him and stuffing it into her pocket. "I'm not eating it," she sulked, all happy remnants of his earlier compliments dissolving completely. "You can't make me."

He laughed, almost fondly, and shook his head. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said, and gently chucked her chin before starting forward. "Come on, Rommie. We've got rounds to make."

"It's _Andromeda,"_ she muttered petulantly, and fell into step beside him.

--

The candy burned in her pocket all week, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of eating it. She'd successfully resisted sweets for four years, and it would take more than one uppity Hufflepuff with a misguided sense of chivalry to undo her.

On Saturday the Carrow twins threw a party in the Common Room and spiked the punch, and Andromeda chose to blame the liquor for impeding her judgment as she sucked happily on the sweet candy.

What Tonks didn't know wouldn't inflate his already oversized ego.


	6. see the fear in my enemy's eyes

Author's Notes: An update, finally! This chapter gave me some trouble. Bellatrix was bored with it, and so was I, so we had a bit of a fight, but we've compromised now and made up.

I hope you enjoy! Pardon me if I go fangirl pretty much all through this chapter, it's just that omgBellatrixissocoolithurtz.

Ancient and Most Noble

**feel the fear in my enemy's eyes**

_Bella,_

_Yes, I sat with Mona. __And__ Adrian, Walden, Lavinia, Horatio, Mariel, and Rabastan, so don't worry—any evil plans "the harpy" had were foiled._

_During the Prefect meeting Adrian and I sat with the Carrow twins. As they get older they look more and more like one another and collectively more like pigs. Every time Alecto speaks I think of you holding your nose and snorting. She probably thinks I fancy her, with all the laughing I do at her spectacularly __not__ clever jokes._

_Not much is new here. I'm doing rounds with a Hufflepuff, Ted Tonks. Do you remember, I told you about him this summer—the know-it-all showoff from Charms? Our first round is tonight, and I'm sure it's going to be absolute torture. I'm all for House unity (yes, really), but he always makes fun of me and has it in his head that it's cute to give me a different nickname every day. You know how I feel about nicknames. It's one thing when you and Cissy do it, but really, my name is Andromeda. I don't __care__ that it's four syllables, it's my name._

_Anyway. Cissy is doing well. I'm sure you'll hear from her soon. She's been a bit sour lately—I think she misses you but she doesn't want to admit it. Although I do want to mention that she's been acting strangely when it comes to the boys in her year. And by "strange", I mean that she's completely ignoring them. You'd think she was Promised, the way she was acting. Do you know anything that I don't?_

_Beyond that, no other news. And yes, I'm keeping my mind open. I thought Demetrius was all right at your birthday party, but a bit of a bore. And anyway, call me a romantic, but shouldn't there be __some__ romance involved? You can deny it all you want, but I __know__ there was with Rolph. Or at least excitement. Everyone else might buy that "I don't need anyone" attitude from you, but I know better._

_I don't know. Maybe I'm romanticizing a mathematical situation. Thoughts?_

_I miss you more every second,_

_your Meda_

_P.S. OUR PARENTS BED?! You dirty whore. At least tell me you had the sheets washed. xo._

Bellatrix put the letter aside slowly, leaning her chin on her hand. Her sister's words worried her. If she was expecting a love affair, she was setting herself up to lose—romance was for extracurriculars, not marriage. Marriage was politics. You analyzed the suitor and made a decision based on math and on social climate.

Of course, she'd gotten lucky with Rolph. He was seductive, powerful, demanding. Controlling, when he wanted to be and when she was in a mood to let him. But love?

Love was a weakness, and Bellatrix was _not_ weak.

There was a knock on the door, and Bellatrix quickly shoved the letter into her drawer before calling out, "Enter!"

A house-elf emerged timidly, wringing his dirty rag of a shirt, and in a tiny voice said, "The master and the mistress went out. Is the missus hungry?"

Bellatrix exhaled, annoyed. Of course they'd gone without her. "No. The missus wants you to leave her the hell alone."

With a squeak, the elf obeyed. Bellatrix glanced at her clock; it was almost noon. She had a meeting with Deidre Bulstrode at one—set up by her mother, of course—to discuss the wedding. The idea was to go bridesmaid hunting, to make sure the right women were involved in her wedding. Deidre, unbearable as she may be, had her disproportionately large hands in the Ministry, as her husband's father was Undersecretary to the Minister and as such number one on Druella Black's "Need to Know" List.

_Why_ her mother believed that sending Bellatrix to engage in… girl talk was the best way to win the family over, Bellatrix had no idea. Meda was better suited for this sort of thing, or even Cissy if she'd been a few years older.

She climbed resignedly to her feet. Perhaps she'd go to Diagon early and shop. She was in serious need of some recreational Pepper-Up, and it wasn't hard to come by if you knew the right people.

Which, of course, she did.

--

"Of course you'll wear a veil," Deidre said, fingering a long, lacy dress robe. "Veils are _trés _in style this year."

Bellatrix wished Meda was here, so that they could laugh at Deidre's constant misuse of foreign words. She counted backwards from ten, reminding herself that society generally frowned upon murder in public places. _Deep breaths,_ Meda's voice whispered in her head.

"I think I'll be going _sans_-veil, actually," she muttered after a moment. "I look better without one."

Deidre shook her head. "No, you just have to wear one. I wore one at _my_ wedding. You remember. _Witch Weekly_ called it the social event of the season."

If Deidre noticed the way Bellatrix's knuckles whitened as they curled into fists, she gave no indication. _Deep breaths,_ Meda said again.

This very situation was the reason Bellatrix always obeyed Druella Black's Guide to Womanhood, step six: always be the first to do everything, because it makes you the standard.

"Didn't they also call the decorations gaudy and overdone?" she asked dismissively before she could stop herself. Meda-in-her-head sighed in resignation.

For a moment, the two women glared at one another, unblinking, until both broke into insincere laughter.

"Bella Black, I don't know _why_ no one can stand your company—_I'm_ completely charmed." Deidre punctuated her statement with a viciously fake giggle.

Bellatrix forced a smile. "It must be the same reason they say you've got less brains than a mud monkey," she returned coolly. "That's the last time I trust _their_ judgment—they _far_ overestimate you." She paused, letting the words sink in before she corrected, "I mean underestimate."

Deidre's expression froze and she pursed her lips. "Well," she said stiffly. "I've got a meeting. But we really must meet up again soon."

"Oh, absolutely," Bellatrix agreed, and they kissed each cheek before Deidre swept from Madam Malkin's faster than a Comet Two-Sixty.

_I can't take you_ _anywhere, _Meda muttered.

--

She wasted time in Diagon until three-thirty and then Floo'd home; she scribbled off a quick note to Cissy—hello, how is school, any boys you like?—and put aside a foot or two of parchment for a longer letter to Meda. She loved Cissy, of course, but they'd never had the connection that she shared with Andromeda. Cissy was the favorite, but she wasn't _her_ favorite.

Bellatrix leaned into her palm and looked out the window; she'd been home alone for a week and already she was stir-crazy, bored without her sisters or any other distractions. She could throw a party, of course, but then her mother would want to get involved, and she wasn't entirely sure she could trust herself armed with a wand around Druella Black.

The silence of the house gave her the shivers. _It's just nine months,_ she'd told Meda, almost flippantly, but the truth of it was that the school year stretched before her longer now than it had ever seemed in the past, the house bigger and emptier. As kids they'd played with the echo of their voices in the great kitchen and in the hallways but now the sound of her own voice coming back to her gave her the chills.

It made her irritable.

"I'm not late," a voice announced, and Bellatrix whirled, hand dropping immediately to her wand. Rolph arched an amused eyebrow and she sighed, relaxing into a smile.

"No," she agreed. "Although it looks like I am. I lost track of time and I'm not dressed for dinner."

He stepped forward, wrapping his thumb and pointer finger around her thin wrist and dragging her towards him. She smiled, Meda's voice running once more through her head—_our parents bed?! you dirty whore._—and let him kiss her for a moment before stepping away. He kept his hand firmly around her wrist, vaguely threatening, and Bellatrix let his frustration wrap around them both. She liked the way it felt, simultaneously pushing them together and pulling them apart, his too-tight grip on her skin that pinched in a flash of pain-pleasure.

"I have to get dressed," she repeated.

"I disagree."

This was why she'd chosen Rolph; the Lestranges weren't as influential as the Malfoys, not quite as handsome as the Averys—but he had that temper to him, a degree of Pureblooded anger that had somehow skipped the others of their generation. A touch of madness, maybe, but she liked what it did to him.

"Easy," she purred against his mouth, letting him drag her back against him. "We have reservations at seven."

His hand covered her mouth for an instant and she shivered, licking her lips against his palm. He didn't move to kiss her, but instead slid his fingers down to her throat, pinning her to the wall with his hips and exerting pressure just under her chin.

She didn't struggle.

In a few moments she began to feel light-headed and dizzy, grateful for Rolph's hands, as they kept her standing. The room spun but she didn't let herself make a sound as her body struggled to breathe, not allowing a single choke or gasp to break from her mouth; she didn't blink or allow her fact to contort; instead, she simply kept eye contact with Rolph's distant, calculating expression.

She could feel herself bruising on her wrist, could feel her pale skin turning purple on the surface.

Her eyelids fluttered, and Rolph let go.

A flood of air spilled into her lungs and she gasped it in greedily, leaning against the wall for strength. Bellatrix didn't allow her hands to go to her own neck; she balled her fists at her sides to keep them in place.

"You'll have to wear a bracelet at dinner to cover the bruise," Rolph mused thoughtfully, reaching into his pocket and emerging with a small velvet box. "I think this might suit."

Bellatrix reached for it, still panting slightly, and started when he linked their hands and dragged her to him. Her heart sped, excited, waiting, eager either to fight or submit, but he simply kissed her once, hard, and then pressed his mouth to her throat where his fingers had been.

"I would never hurt you," he murmured gently, pulling back and meeting her eyes.

"No," she agreed, her voice soft, bringing a hand to cup his cheek in an uncharacteristically tender gesture. "No. Rolph. You never would."

Meda wouldn't understand, Bellatrix mused as she slipped the large gold bracelet over her hand, where it covered the already-darkening skin. Meda would have struggled against Rolph's oppressive fingers, would have panicked and flailed and kicked out at him. She wouldn't have _understood_.

He hadn't been _hurting _her, not really, not _seriously._ Rolph never would, never could have raised a hand to her even if he wanted to. It was—it meant something different. It was proof. It wasn't his way of exerting control; it was her way of showing her devotion to him.

She hadn't struggled, hadn't fought him, hadn't even been afraid. For a minute, for one minute, Rodolphus Lestrange had held her life in his hands. For sixty seconds, Bellatrix Black—wild, fierce, strong—had submitted herself entirely to another human being. He had shown her his strength and she had shown him her weakness.

He had almost killed her and she had almost let him.

Meda wouldn't have understood that he hurt her to _love_ her, just as she wouldn't understand that Bellatrix let him to love him back.

"It looks better on you that it did on the shelf," Rolph told her, pulling away.

She smiled at him. "Doesn't it always?" she asked, walking to the closet and pulling out the dress robes she'd chosen for the occasion. She felt his eyes on her as she slipped out of her day clothes and into her dinner attire and enjoyed it, sashaying for him as she went back into the closet for shoes.

"How was your outing with Deidre Bulstrode?"

Bellatrix made a face, puffing out her cheeks in the imitation of a pig. Rolph laughed. "That girl wouldn't know a diet if it came into her house and stole all of the Christmas cookies," she snarled, shuddering as if to shake off the memory. "And she's got the intelligence of a six-month-old Mudblood."

He chuckled. "That well? You're softening in your old age, Bella."

"Oh, don't be nasty. It's not even six o'clock."

When she'd dressed, they went downstairs and Apparated to the Three Broomsticks, where Lucius, Virgus Avery, and Cassio Greengrass met them. She let the three of them kiss her cheeks and then swept her hair over her shoulders as her hand twitched towards her wand.

"Now that we're all here," Lucius muttered with a dark glance at Bellatrix and Rolph, "we need to get moving. I believe we're on a schedule."

Bellatrix didn't let her excitement show. "Indeed. I have dinner reservations."

Avery laughed, glancing over at her with a slight roll of his eyes. "And I'm sure _you're_ fretting about timeliness," he teased. "I went to school with you for seven years, Bellatrix, and you haven't been on time since the day we met."

She laid a punch to his arm that had him wincing. "I don't recall you minding that particular character trait for those few weeks fifth year," she said sweetly, her hand flatting against his arm and squeezing suggestively. "In fact, as I recall, it was during one of those… _late_ sessions that you told me you loved me. _Oh, Bella,_" she mimicked, her voice high-pitched and breathy, "_What does Rodolphus have that I don't?"_

Avery choked, his eyes cutting to Rolph, but her fiancé simply rolled his eyes. "Be nice, Bella," he said mildly, and then turned to Cassio. "Mother tells me you're going to announce your engagement to the Rosier girl," he congratulated. "I've heard… good things about her."

Cassio shrugged. "If those things are that she sleeps naked and does what she's told, they're all true," he said shortly, with a cutting glance at Bellatrix.

"That's funny," she shot back at him, fingers tightening around her wand, "because I heard her say the same about you."

Cassio's arm flinched upwards and met Rolph's cool hand, his fingers gripping Cassio's wrist with the same strength he'd used earlier with Bellatrix. "Don't even think about it," he murmured in a low, dark voice, before letting go. Then he turned to Bellatrix, eyebrows raised. "Really, Bella," he scolded. "If you can't control that mouth of yours I'm taking you home right now."

"_I_ can't help it if he's a pouf," she muttered to herself, but held her hands up in a gesture of surrender.

Lucius and Avery laughed, but Cassio's scowl deepened. Rolph's hand found hers briefly in the dark and he squeezed once.

They left Diagon and kept walking, leaving the road for a smaller, less beaten path that led towards a small section of wood. Bellatrix silently cursed herself for wearing heels; she kicked them off and shrunk them, dropping them into her pocket for later. It wouldn't do to get to the restaurant only to have grass and dirt on her shoes, after all. Any evidence was incriminating evidence, as Sirius used to say.

At last they arrived. The fire was small, just large enough to cast light and controlled by a spell that dissipated the smoke before it could gather into a pillar that might give them away. The group waiting for them was small: Nicholas Parkinson, Thorfinn Rowle, Liam Travers, and Evan Rosier, all huddled around the flame.

"Took you long enough," Travers whined the instant they came into view. "We've been waiting."

No one apologized.

"All right," Lucius said, and they gathered around him in the growing dark. Bellatrix felt her pulse quicken and her arm wince in ghost pain as it readied for what she knew was to come. Lucius pulled out his wand and she loosened her grip on hers, allowing it to drop into her pocket as she rolled up her sleeve and flexed her arm. Travers, Avery, and Parkinson were all eagerly doing the same, while Rowle, Rosier, and Greengrass simply pressed their hands to their forearms as if feeling for a scar.

Only Rolph didn't react beyond bringing her arm to his lips and kissing it once, gently.

"Do you all understand," Lucius intoned, "what are you promising by taking the Dark Mark?"

"Yes," Bellatrix answered, her voice louder than the others, her eyes hungrier.

"You are binding yourselves for the rest of your lives," Lucius continued, ignoring them but for a brief glance her way. "You are _giving yourself _to our Lord and Master. Your life becomes nothing but his tool—to be given away at any time, should he ask it. You will complete the tasks he gives you without hesitation or doubt. You will come when you are called. You will do whatever is asked of you, _when_ever it is asked of you, _how_ever it is asked of you. You will not betray this covenant."

A small whimper came from the shadows, where a hunched figure squirmed in the dark. Beside it stood a taller shadow, his eyes the only part of him visible. No one needed to ask who it was.

"Travers," Rolph said, grabbing the man's arm. "Do you take this vow?"

"Yes," Travers murmured, and then gasped and fell to his knees as Rolph's pressed his wand into his flesh. There was a bright, searing light and Bellatrix smelled burning skin.

"Avery," Rodolphus began again, moving on without a second glance at the still hissing Travers, "do you take this vow?"

There was the briefest instant of hesitation before Avery grit his teeth and bit out: "Yes."

He, too, sank to his knees as Rolph's wand burned into him, the Dark Mark bright and hot on his skin. But he did not cry out as Travers had, and once Rolph moved onto Parkinson ("Do you take this vow?"), didn't make another sound.

And then only Bellatrix remained, and before Rolph could speak she thrust out her arm and said, "Yes, I accept it, yes, _yes."_

He smiled at her, his eyes haunted and gaunt in the firelight, and then pressed his wand firmly into her forearm. Bellatrix closed her eyes, allowing the pain to overwhelm her for a moment, and when she opened them she looked over Rolph's shoulder to meet the eyes of the One who had brought them all together in the first place. She did not let herself cry out from the suffering, nor did she fall to her knees as the men had; she kept her eyes locked on His and made her face expressionless.

_This is for you,_ she thought forcefully. _You will see my pain and understand that it is how I love you._

In the darkness, her Lord smiled.

--

"Mmm," Bellatrix moaned around a mouthful of gnocchi, gingerly setting her still-sore arm on her lap. "Excellent choice for dinner."

Rolph grinned at her. "You did well tonight," he murmured, voice low, pride evident. His eyes flicked regretfully towards her hidden arm. "I am sorry about the pain, but—our Friend was pleased. I cannot tell you how pleased."

The words sent a hum of pleasure through her and she allowed herself a smile. "Perhaps we should spread the pleasure around, after dinner," she suggested mildly, and his answering laugh was enough to ease the pain in her arm and ache on her wrist.

"I imagine Avery is at home by himself, having his mother nurse his wounds," Rolph said distastefully, and Bellatrix laughed at him, putting down her fork and reaching across the table to touch his hand.

"Don't be jealous, darling," she drawled. "You know Avery was when I was fifteen, and only while you were in France. Don't pretend you didn't have a Veela while you were there—I've seen the photographs."

Rolph rolled his eyes. "I'm a man, Bella," he told her, but there was only amusement in his tone. "Occasionally you might remember that there are differences in how we're allowed to behave."

"You wouldn't be marrying me if I behaved," Bellatrix told him coyly, and stood. He dropped a few galleons on the table as she murmured into his ear, "Would you like me to show you just how uncivilized I can be?"

--

That night, she lay in the dark as Rolph slept beside her, their backs to one another as moonlight spilled through the window. The pain in her arm was too intense to sleep, so she stood, pushing the covers off of her body and moving towards the window.

At last she sat down at the desk and pulled the rolls of parchment she'd set aside towards her. She gazed down at the blank paper, ink dripping off of the end of her quill.

She wanted to tell Meda everything, all about tonight and the joy she'd felt in the pain, about the way she had seen her Master smiling, even in the dark, as if he had heard her most private thoughts.

But she couldn't. Wouldn't. Meda could handle it, had a strength few were ever observant enough to see, but Bellatrix knew that what had happened tonight was somehow beyond Meda, was a part of Bellatrix's life that Meda could never touch.

The thought made her shiver, and she began to write, trying to cover the sudden fear that swept through her with the steady strokes of her quill scratching against parchment.

_My darling Meda,_

_I had to go shopping with Deidre Bulstrode today. I tried to behave. The voice in my head—your voice—did her best to keep me in line, but, well, you know me. As Rolph noted tonight, I would do well to "occasionally remember that there are differences in how men and women are allowed to behave."_

_He wasn't complaining when we got home, however. I know you hate it when I go too much in detail, but let me just tell you—I'll never regret choosing Rolph, for those reasons and others. (It's the closest you'll get to admission from me, and I trust you'll keep it to yourself. Should the topic come up, I'll deny everything.)_

_I'm sorry you're stuck with a Mudblood, darling. Just try to ignore him. That's the only advice I can give you that you'll actually follow—I __know__ you won't agree to hex him and lock him in a closet during your patrols. You're far too kind for your own good. I'm afraid that people will take advantage of you. Don't let this mud monkey push you around. You're too polite to properly explain how your relationship is going to work, but if you'd like I can have one of the boys in your year do it for you. I'm sure Demetrius wouldn't mind._

_Speaking of Demetrius, I know you think he's a bit boring and, well, I'll give that to you. I don't know how many times I'll have to tell you: __marriage__ isn't for fun, and certainly isn't for love. What do you think lovers are for? No one expects you to spend your life __faithful__ to your husband, just that you are __loyal__. Men are just a means to an end, Meda._

_I was lucky with Rolph, but even if I hadn't been, I still would have married him. You understand that, don't you? I only want you to be happy, Meda, which is why I'm pushing Demetrius. He's a good fit for you—nice enough, attractive, mild._

_I haven't heard back from Cissy yet, but I'll be sure to keep you informed if she tells me anything. I'm not aware of any Promises made concerning our little sister—you don't think she's serious about this Lucius nonsense, do you? Of course, it wouldn't be a bad match._

_Although, __you__ could have Lucius if you wanted him. Did you realize that? He's always been fascinated by you, probably because you spend a good deal of your time ignoring him. He's always been that way—wanting what he can't have._

_I must go. It's late, and I have a whole day of Druella Black and wedding plans to look forward to tomorrow. I can't go into detail, Meda, my Meda, but something changed tonight. I wish I could explain it all to you! I wish I could sit you down and tell you everything, fit together all the pieces of what I felt and saw tonight. Oh, it was… it was the most pure feeling I've ever had. Can you understand that, somehow? I have never felt closer to anything or anyone, never felt as I did in that one moment—as if he saw into my mind—as if he saw everything that I am and was and ever will be._

_With everything I have, I am still_

_your Bella._


	7. listen as the crowds would sing

Author's Notes: Ha, ha. Narcissa Black.

Ancient, and Most Noble

**listen as the crowds would sing**

Narcissa was woken by the sound of someone crying. From the gasping and short-of-breath she guessed it was probably Eponine Gamp, a sixth-year whose volume was matched only by her size. Narcissa pushes herself up onto her elbows and blinked, pulling aside the curtains.

Sure enough, there was good old Eponine, huddled in the patient arms of Susanna Jugson. She was clutching a letter.

"Oh, what _is_ it?" Narcissa hissed, rubbing a hand across her eyes. "What could _possibly_ have you making those sort of noises at this hour on a _Saturday?"_

Susanna cut her a disapproving look, which she ignored; all the Jugsons were like that, painfully politically correct. No backbone, any of them. "She's just got a letter saying she's out of the running for Rabastan Lestrange," Susanna murmured over Eponine's head, bringing on a fresh wave of tears. "She's _grieving_, Narcissa, _God._"

Narcissa managed _not_ to roll her eyes, but it was a close call. How Eponine Gamp had even managed to be _in_ the running for Rabastan was far beyond her; the girl looked like a bloated garden gnome, beard included. "Well could she _grieve_ a little quieter?" she grumbled, pulling on a robe and leaving Eponine to dry-heave herself into a nap.

There were a few boys in the Common Room, but she ignored them, letting her robe hang loose around her short nightgown as she passed through. It would have been impossible not to notice their stares, but, well, the way to get attention is to pretend you don't need it, so she didn't spare them any glances and went straight for the seventh-year dormitory.

Drommie always got the bed near the window; her sister got claustrophobic if she wasn't able to see the stars when she woke up at night. Narcissa pushed aside the curtain and scooted in. "Move over," she whispered, yawning.

Drommie groaned. "What time is it?"

"Early. Eponine Gamp's just heard about the Lestranges and she's making sounds like a dying hippogriff."

Even with her eyes closed, Narcissa could hear her sister's smile. Drommie shoved over and let Narcissa snuggle down into the covers, draping a lazy arm over her stomach and nuzzling into her shoulder. "That's probably Bella's fault," Drommie murmured sleepily, her words cut off at the ends by a yawn. Narcissa laughed as she felt Drommie press a kiss to her skin and then promptly drop back into her dreams, her breath evening out and arm going limp.

She lay still, listening to the sound of Drommie's steady breathing, and closed her eyes. It had been a long time since she'd crawled into bed with one of her sisters. When she was little, it had been because of a nightmare, or because she'd been homesick. Usually it was Drommie's bed she'd go to, because the middle Black sister never said no. She'd patiently listen to Narcissa's terrified whispers and then assure her that nothing could get her, wrapping her in her thin arms and humming until Narcissa fell back to sleep. But as she'd gotten older, she'd had less and less need for Drommie, and sometimes she felt like that was the reason she was always the plus-one in the triad of Black heiresses; she'd grown out of her role as The Baby, so her sisters had no use for her.

Of course, Bella was still useful whenever Narcissa had any sort of disagreement; no one ever disagreed with Bellatrix Black, especially not when she was armed.

And Bella was always armed.

Narcissa sighed, squeezing her eyes shut and trying again to fall asleep; no luck. She fidgeted with the hem of Drommie's blanket and then with her nails; she counted pixies; she said the alphabet backwards.

No dice.

Finally, with a moan, she shook her sister awake. Drommie started. "Whassa matta?" she mumbled, wiping a hand across her mouth in case of drool.

"I can't fall back asleep," Narcissa whined, folding her arms over her chest. "It's only seven o'clock."

Drommie peeled open an eye to glare at her. "Well, do you have to drag me down with you?"

Narcissa pouted. Typical. _She'd_ got woken up by a harpy crying over Rabastan Lestrange and _Drommie_ was complaining? "Come get breakfast with me."

Her sister sighed, rubbing her eyes clear and then pushing the blankets off the bed. "All right," she groaned. "Go get dressed and we'll go."

It didn't take her long; Narcissa rarely bothered with beauty charms. She didn't need them. Still, it didn't hurt to lengthen her eyelashes (just a little!) and redden her lips (just in case). She tucked her wand into her back pocket and met Drommie in the Common Room; her sister was curled up on the couch, her head drooping onto Adrian Nott's shoulder. He was sitting with Walden Macnair and Demetrius Selwyn, all of them pouring over what looked like textbooks.

"Oh, that's just embarrassing," Narcissa said, coming up behind Walden and putting her hands on either side of him on the back of the couch. "You're _studying_? At _this_ hour? On a _Saturday_? What are you, Ravenclaws?"

Adrian made a face. "You say that now, you adorable little fifth year, but just wait until _you_ have to take your N.E.W.T.s."

"Please, those aren't until the end of the year."

Walden turned to raise an eyebrow at her. "Yeah, well, the classes are very _now_, and just you try not doing McGonagall's homework, see where it gets you."

Narcissa opened her mouth to respond when Drommie sat up, blinking rapidly. "Ready to go?" she asked around a yawn, and smiled sheepishly at Adrian. "Sorry," she mumbled, laughing a little and blushing.

His eyes wrinkled into a smile and he tweaked Drommie's nose with affection. "My shoulder is your shoulder," he grinned.

Her sister laughed and climbed to her feet, ruffling Adrian's hair. Narcissa sighed. Her sister could _totally_ be engaged by now if she'd put a little more effort into it. She was well-liked, and certainly beautiful, and she had enough money to interest even the most influential Pureblood families—oh, wait. They were _among_ the most influential Pureblood families.

What was she waiting for?

"You know," Narcissa began, but Drommie cut her off.

"It's too early to talk shop," she said flatly. "I haven't had any tea and I'm seeing double, so can we stow it at least until lunch?"

Narcissa rolled her eyes. So touchy. "I'm just _saying_," she grumbled, "I don't understand why you haven't just _picked_ someone already. Are you waiting for Mother and Daddy to do it for you? Because you _know_ who they're rooting for, and I thought you said Demetrius Selwyn wasn't your type."

Drommie sighed, running a finger through her hair. "Demetrius is all right," she allowed. "I just said I wasn't _sure._"

"Well, what about Adrian Nott? He likes you."

"Adrian's just a friend."

"Well, obviously, but—"

Drommie stopped walking, and Narcissa grudgingly followed her example after getting a few steps ahead. She turned slowly, pouting, to face her sister, whose hands had gone to her hips and whose mouth was drawn in a tight line. "Look, Cissy, I _know_ that I have options, okay? And I think I know them a little better than you. I get this from Cygnus and Druella every day, and Bella whenever she writes, so can we just . . . have breakfast without discussing my prospects?_ Please_?"

Narcissa shrugged, throwing her hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. "Fine," she snapped, "all I'm saying is that it's not that difficult to choose."

At that, her sister's lips twitched and her eyes twinkled. "Maybe I'll choose Lucius Malfoy, then," she mused somberly, stroking her chin. "He's got it all—looks, money, influence . . ."

For a moment, she froze, remembering Lucius's face close to hers on the stairwell the night of the party, his breath in her ear as they said goodnight. Could she have possibly _seen_—?

Narcissa crossed her arms over her chest and exaggerated her shrug. She was _so_ not going to fall for _that._ "Fine. I wouldn't care."

Drommie winced, her hand going to her chest as if it pained her, and then she relaxed with a laugh. "Oh, you dirty liar," she teased, coming towards Narcissa and fondly kissing her cheek. "I've got money on that match, you know, so don't let me down."

Narcissa's eyes widened. "Money?" she asked, falling back into step with her sister as they walked toward the kitchen. "What do you mean?"

"Tatiana Flint and I have a wager. She doesn't think you can snag him, being the eligible bachelor that he is and you having to wait a full year before anything can be done about you."

A bubble of pride swelled in Narcissa's chest. _Take that, Desdemona Rookwood_, she thought smugly, and, feeling affectionate, reached out to take Drommie's hand. They walked in silence the rest of the way to the kitchen, and Narcissa liked the rhythm of their footsteps; for once, she felt included, part of a pair instead of the odd man out.

The kitchen elves panicked when they saw them, going into a cooking frenzy that couldn't be stopped, even when both girls adamantly expressed their desire for nothing but fruit and water.

When presented with the stack of pancakes, Drommie caved and made Narcissa split one—but she did them both a favor by having the elves hide the syrup and butter.

"Mother would kill me," Narcissa moaned happily as she popped the last bite into her mouth.

Drommie chuckled and then leaned in confidentially. "Earlier this week," she whispered, "I ate a whole Sugar Quill."

Narcissa's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Drommie was the best of them at controlling her appetite—Bella indulged to the point of gluttony, and Narcissa never really had the opportunity to plan her own meals, since her sisters always filled her plate when she was at school and her mother took care of it at home. Drommie was always the one who had to work at denying herself, so the idea of her eating a whole Sugar Quill . . . "Where did you even get it?"

Drommie coughed, reaching for her water. "What? Oh, um, I just found it on my bed. I guess someone left one for all the seventh-year girls. Isn't that nice?"

"Strange," Narcissa mused. She wished someone had left _her_ year Sugar Quills. She hadn't had one since she was nine. Her mother allowed her one instead of a slice of cake. "I wonder who it was."

Drommie was too concentrated on her half of the pancake to pay attention; she hummed her agreement and the question faded into silence. Narcissa idly picked at a bite of melon. "So have you heard from Bella?" she asked at last, hating to bring their sister up out of desperation but unable to not talk about _something._ "She's sent me a couple notes—nothing too long. She wants to know what boy I plan to bring home over Christmas, but I'm not sure if I'll even bother."

"You know, Cissy," Drommie said slowly, thoughtfully, catching Narcissa's gaze and not letting her look away, "I completely support your crush on Lucius, but maybe . . . maybe you should keep your options open."

Narcissa huffed. This from Miss-I-Have-A-Wager? "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing! Just that . . . he's not _here_, Cissy. He's off in the real world, and you should be aware that things . . . happen. Something might come up. He might be married before it's legal for him to even court you by no fault of your own. You haven't even _met_, so it's not like he's saving himself for—"

"That's all _you_ know," Narcissa snapped. She never was any good at keeping secrets. "For your _information_, we met at the June party at our place. I snuck into the kitchens for dinner and he was there." She smiled, smug at the expression on her sister's face. "We talked all night."

Drommie sat in stunned silence for a moment and then a smile spread wide across her face. "_Ha!_" she cried, tossing a strawberry at Narcissa. "I _knew_ it! I _knew_ something was up—_that's_ why you've been such a snob lately!"

"I have not been a _snob_—"

"Please, you're like Bellatrix a Sickle Store." Drommie reached over and tousled Narcissa's hair, much to chagrin, and shook her head, still smiling. "I'm not sure if I should be proud or scared that you've already got eighteen-year-olds wrapped around your finger."

Narcissa allowed herself a prim smile. "Proud," she said, absorbing her sister's smile and her own feelings of pride. "Definitely proud."

--

It takes Eponine Gamp three days to seek her out; Narcissa had been expecting it earlier. Of course, Narcissa was used to being around people who had actual _spines_ and wouldn't have needed her help in the first place, but, whatever.

Not everyone could be born to the ancient and most noble House of Black.

The note that landed on her breakfast had tear streaks on it and was written in shaky scrawl; Narcissa curled her lip as she read it.

_Please meet me outside the library after Potions._

Never mind that Potions was all the way across the castle from the library; clearly Eponine Gamp didn't care that Narcissa had better things to do than vainly try to fix her ruined prospects. Didn't Eponine _realize _how much time she had to dedicate to social networking? Surely someone that looked like Eponine would have a little sympathy. _She_ could certainly stand to do a little schmoozing herself, since _she_ wasn't getting anywhere on looks alone.

Of course, Druella Black's Guide to Womanhood, step seven stated very clearly that one must never depend on looks alone, so Narcissa spent at least four hours a day socializing. It was terribly taxing, a fact with Eponine _clearly_ had no appreciation for.

Still, Narcissa knew that sometimes you had to make sacrifices to get ahead—so here she was, sacrificing her very valuable free time to help someone in need, all out of the goodness of her heart.

And the desire to find out who still _was_ in the running for Rabastan without appearing interested. But still—who'd know the difference?

"All right, Eponine," Narcissa sighed to herself, tucking the note back into her pocket. A shadow started moving and then came into the light, molding itself into the rotund figure of a sniveling Eponine Gamp. Narcissa fought not to be disgusted. Crying in _public?_ This was getting pathetic. "What do you need?"

Eponine clutched at her hand. "Please," she begged, "I know Bellatrix is engaged to Rodolphus. If you could just talk to her. Get her to put in a good word for me. Maybe—I don't know, maybe you could have Rodolphus talk to his mother."

Narcissa sighed, gingerly removing herself from Eponine's fingers. "I don't know," she mused, pretending to mule it over. "Who are you up against?"

The girl's voice broke. "I don't . . . I'm not sure. I think Juliana Rosier is still a favorite, and—and maybe Persephone Mulciber? Please. The Lestranges and the Rosiers know each other from the Ministry, and the Mulcibers own like a million shares in Gringotts. My family _needs_ this."

Narcissa winced at the girl's lack of class. She was actually _asking_ for charity? Her mother clearly hadn't given the same lessons Druella Black had. "I don't know," she said again. "I'm not sure it's my place to interfere."

"Oh, please," Eponine laughed, somewhat nastily, "everyone knows that the Black sisters have their fingers in everyone's business. You might as well do something _good_, for once."

Well, _that_ was offensive.

Still, there was a flash of pride at the words: _the Black sisters._ Not just Bellatrix, not just Andromeda. The Black _sisters._ All three.

Narcissa crossed her arms over her chest. Eponine seemed to realize her mistake and scrambled to fix it, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just upset. Narcissa, _please._ I'm _begging_ you. My father . . ." she gulped. "Can you just talk to Bellatrix for me? Just once?"

When she was young, Narcissa found a bird with a broken wing out in the backyard. Well, actually what had happened was that Bellatrix had been throwing stones and hit it. Still, Narcissa had wailed and wailed until someone did something; at last her father had come out and, in front of his three daughters, calmly explained that since it could no longer fly, it was no longer a useful creature and needed to be put down. So he'd killed it.

Narcissa equated Eponine to that bird. "Listen. I can't help you, Eponine. I want to," she lied, putting a hand on the girl's arm and drawing up a sincere expression, "but the thing is . . . I already know that talking to Bellatrix won't do anything for you."

Eponine frowned. "What? Why?"

She hesitated, deliberating. Drommie was always plugging truth and how great it was, but Bella told her that the best way to get what you wanted was to lie, lie, lie until they believed you. She pulled a sad face. "She's the one that talked them out of it."

Eponine's mouth fell open and her eyes widened, her hands going slack at her sides. "_What?_" she gasped, like Narcissa had personally betrayed her.

"Yeah, I'm sorry," she said apologetically. "I'm not sure how to tell you this. It's just—well, the Lestranges are family now, so you can understand why she'd be involved in the process. I know she's been bored with the engagement and everything, so she's been spending a lot of time with Mrs. Lestrange, going over Rabastan's future, and well . . . it's just that the Mulcibers and Rosiers bring more to the table, money-wise. It's nothing personal."

Actually, Bella couldn't care one way or the other about the Mulcibers or the Rosiers; she'd told Rodolphus that Eponine was a fat cow who smelled of mildew and he'd passed it on to his mother and that had been the end of it. But Narcissa thought this would be the kinder way of breaking the news, so she was trying Drommie's bleeding-heart on for size.

By the expression on Eponine's face, it wasn't really fitting.

"You _cow_," she hissed, balling her fists. "How _dare you­_!"

Narcissa frowned. How was _she_ the villain in this picture? "Look, I'm _sorry_, Eponine, I really am—"

"Oh _please!_ You couldn't care _less_ about anyone else or their problems!"

Well, that was more or less true, so Narcissa settled for a shrug. "I heard there was a McKinnon coming on marriageable age," she offered helpfully. "They're a bit new-money, but so far no major blood-traitors in the family, so . . ."

Eponine was trembling, her face a deep shade of puce, and she raised a hand, her fleshy palm aimed straight for Narcissa's face as she screeched, "I'll break your _nose!"_ Narcissa's eyes widened. She'd never been hit before. She wasn't even sure how she was supposed to be reacting—if she was supposed to duck or let Eponine hit her before she unleashed her revenge. What was the proper etiquette, here?

But before Eponine connected, a hand darted out and grabbed it out of the air, just an inch from Narcissa's face. Both girls turned, and Narcissa broke into a smile that she quickly masked.

"Not a good idea," Sirius said, his voice low.

Eponine winced, ripping her hand out of his grip. Without another word, she spun on her heel and marched down the hall, her wand swinging her in her hand as she went.

Sirius quirked an eyebrow, a smirk stealing across his mouth as he snarked, "What did I tell you about speaking to people who aren't bound by blood to love you? Because this is exactly what I'm talking about."

She glared, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's not _my_ fault the Lestranges came to their senses when it came to marrying Rabastan!" she cried. Why did no one understand that _she_ was the injured party, here? She gingerly pressed a few fingers to her nose. "She said she was going to break it."

Sirius laughed, throwing his arm around her shoulder. Since he'd just saved her nose from assured destruction, she let him keep it there and didn't even complain when he tweaked it. "No one's going to hurt your perfect nose, Cissy," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Now what do you say to your favorite cousin for saving you?"

She kissed his cheek. "I say get your hands off me before I _take_ them off." She let him steer her down the hallway, gently shoving him away.

"Wow, Cissy—first a girl fight and now this? I'd say you were ungrateful, but I'm just so damn _proud_."

"Shut up."

--

News spread of her battle with Eponine like magic fire; thanks to Sirius's big mouth, she didn't even have to do it herself. Of course, the version that ultimately made it out of Gryffindor was a _little_ skewed, but largely in Narcissa's favor, so she didn't much mind.

She got a few nasty looks from Susanna Jugson, but those were easy to ignore.

And then, on Wednesday, a tawny owl she'd never seen before dropped a tiny letter onto her breakfast. The handwriting was unfamiliar and it wasn't addressed; it simply said _Narcissa_ across the front in gorgeous, official looking scrawl.

She tore it open, shielding it from curious eyes by reading it beneath the table.

_Narcissa,_

_Hogsmeade tomorrow. Meet me at the Shrieking Shack._

_Lucius_

--

She carried the letter in her pocket until that night, when she "accidentally" let it drop out onto the floor. Rosalind Selwyn picked it up while Narcissa pretended not to notice, and her shriek was enough to bring the other girls running.

Narcissa noted with some satisfaction that Susanna Jugson turned slightly green as she detailed her first meeting with Lucius, that summer; the way his lips had brushed against her ear when he said goodnight; his eyes on her as she went up the stairs; his voice dropping an octave when he said her name.

Drommie didn't mention it aside from a wink at breakfast the morning after, but Narcissa found a Sugar Quill on her pillow when she got back from Charms on Thursday and the attached note said _for luck_ in her sister's familiar handwriting.

Sirius cornered her on Friday, eyes murderous, and she quickly ran through a list of things she could have done to make him mad, but came up short. "What's got you looking like your Mum without dessert?" she asked guardedly, folding her arms protectively across her chest.

"You're going out with _Lucius Malfoy?_" Sirius spat, looking disgusted as he said the word.

She stiffened. "Maybe," she hedged. "Who told you that?"

"Georgiana McLean," Sirius answered, waving it away. "What does it matter who _told_ me? He's too old for you!"

Narcissa scoffed, oddly touched by her cousin's reaction. "Listen, I don't know why you'd get upset over something some Mudblood told you, but—"

"Don't say that," Sirius interrupted, looking agitated.

She frowned. "Don't say what? You didn't let me finish."

"_Mudblood,"_ Sirius hissed, glancing around as if to make sure no one heard. But that was silly. Who cared if someone heard him?

She spoke slowly, reaching out to press a hand to his forehead, which he batted impatiently away. "That's what she _is_. I'm not sure why you're so angry. Would you call a cripple a cripple?"

It was an analogy Bella had used with her last year, when she'd asked why some people got so tense when she said words like _Mudblood_ and _mud monkey_; it had made sense to her. But Sirius didn't buy it. "No," he argued, "I'd say . . . I don't know . . . impaired."

"Oh, you would not," she laughed fondly. "Come on. Be serious."

He glared at her. "I _am_ serious," he said, and covered her mouth with his hand before she could say _and I'm Narcissa._ "It's not . . . it's different. It's meaner."

"It's just what they _are_, Sirius," she said, bewildered. "They're Mudbloods. We're Purebloods. It's like saying someone's rich and someone's poor."

"Don't be naïve," Sirius snapped, turning from her. "Lucius Malfoy is a selfish, entitled asshole who thinks he can walk all over people just because they're different. He'll just use you to get what he wants and if you think differently than you need to _grow up,_ Narcissa."

He walked away without looking back, leaving her completely baffled, her eyes stinging.


	8. the old king is dead long live the king!

Ancient, and Most Noble

_Rest in peace, MJ._

_You'll always be the king._

**now the old king is dead! long live the king!**

Narcissa spent three hours getting ready, struggling to find that airy, casual, I'm-not-dressed-up look that _also_ made her look so fantastic that it would knock Lucius off of his perfectly-formed feet.

She ended up wearing something green. It was her best color.

She left her friend's at the Three Broomsticks and walked by herself to the Shack; she tried to hide her trembling by rubbing hands together as if she was cold. She took a seat on the fence, half-hoping to hear some of the mythical screams that supposedly came from the house. Sirius swore he'd heard them last year, but she knew better than to believe anything _he_ said.

A hand on her hip made her turn, gently pushing until she was facing it's owner.

Lucius grinned, his perfect gleaming teeth glittering down at her. Was it possible for teeth to be sexy?

"Hi," she murmured, lowering the octave of her voice enough that it was almost a whisper.

He brushed a strand of hair out of her face (one that she'd left loose precisely for that purpose). "Hello yourself."

--

Sirius caught up with her in Zonko's; he was frantic, his eyes wide as he babbled at her about Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy down by the Shrieking Shack. She watched him through sleepy eyes, letting him tire himself out, and then reached out and dragged him into a hug that she figured out embarrass him but instead one which he returned, gratefully, shaking.

"He's _evil_, Andie," Sirius murmured against her shoulder. He was almost taller than she was now. "He's just—_using_ her!"

Andromeda pulled away, taking his face in her hands and making him look at her. "It's just business," she told him, keeping her voice low and soothing. "Narcissa knows that."

Sirius frowned. "What do you mean, 'just business'?" he asked, furrowing his brow in a way that looked so much like Bella that Andromeda almost laughed. "They're—she _fancies_ him!"

"Maybe," Andromeda allowed, "but Narcissa's smart. She knows as well as the next girl that marriage is all politics."

Her cousin pulled away, and when he looked at her it was with betrayed eyes. "Funny," he told her coldly. "I thought it was supposed to be about love."

He left her in the shop and she sighed, a niggling feeling in the back of her brain whispering, _me too._

--

Bellatrix woke with a smile. The clock on the wall read 11:00 AM. Her arm ached.

She'd felt it, last night, the burning—her Lord and Master calling. But she hadn't Apparated; the meeting hadn't been for her, or the other new recruits. _Death Eaters_, Greengrass had called them.

She liked its sound. Death Eaters. Eaters of Death. It was powerful, already more powerful than she could have imagined.

Beside her, Rolph moaned in his sleep. When he'd come in last night, there had been blood on his shirt, and she'd pressed her hand to it, thinking it was his. But he'd closed his hand overtop hers and she'd calmed, realizing it wasn't, and set aside the cold panic of _whatifyougetcaught_, instead giving him a smile and a kiss and bringing him to bed.

His clothing was laid out now, clean and pressed, and she smiled, curling into him. His arms went automatically around her, even in sleep, pulling her against his chest in both an embrace and a shackle.

--

He didn't kiss her at first. She'd expected it as a hello, but he'd pulled back and taken her hand, and now they were jumping the fence and walking towards the Shrieking Shack. She shivered, trying to pretend she was afraid of going towards the building where _angry ghosts _lived . . . but he looked down at her and grinned.

"Nervous?" he murmured, his mouth very close to her ear. The hair stood up on the back of her neck.

She danced in front of him, walking backwards, putting enough distance so that her head would stop spinning. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Bella said, _men are a means to an end, Cissy darling, and don't you forget it._ She pulled her most seductive smile and clapped her gloved hands together. "Hardly,Oh, hardly," she laughed with confidence she didn't feel. "How could I be, with you here to protect me?"

He stopped walking and she followed his example, fearing she'd said something wrong. He was studying her and reached out a hand to drag her to him. She tried to keep her breathing steady, not to let him know how fast her heart was beating. "Protect you," he murmured, his palm cupping his cheek. "Yes. I want to protect you."

And with that, his mouth crashed down onto hers.

Narcissa felt herself go weak, sagging against him as he kissed her, dizzily looping her arms around his neck so that she couldn't fall down. His hands clung to her hips and he lifted her off the ground, wrapping his arms around her completely and holding her so close it was difficult to breathe. He was devouring her, hungrily, greedily, insatiably.

When he pulled away he didn't look at her; didn't even put her down. Lucius simply held her tighter and she let him, giving him a gentle hug.

Somehow this had become _not_ about good old-fashioned naughty fun and about something else entirely, something Narcissa didn't understand, so she gently stroked his hair as he whispered, "I want to protect you," over and over and over again.

"You will," she murmured back, and her words seemed to calm him. "It's okay. You will."

--

She went to lunch with Demetrius Selwyn, partly because he asked nicely and partly because if she didn't her mother wouldn't let her hear the end of it. He took her to the Three Broomsticks, not bad as far as meals go. It didn't feel like a date, which was nice.

He ordered for her and she played with the hem on her shirt, idly thinking that Demetrius wasn't bad looking, not in this light and not when he smiled.

"So," he said with a little laugh, and she realized: this is easy. It could be this easy. She gave him a smile, encouraging. "Have you heard much from your sister?"

Andromeda's wearing blue, a tight little sweater she bought when she was fourteen that still fit in most places. It was something Bella would wear, which was why she kept it and brought it out sometimes; it was a slice of her sister, a reminder that even when they were apart, they were still together. "Every day," she said with a smile, and then laughed. "You don't really want to talk about Bella, do you?"

He grinned. "No," he agreed. "I don't want to talk about Bella."

Sirius's voice was in her head, _I thought it was supposed to be about love_, and she forcefully pushed it away. He was young, he didn't understand. This was the way things worked.

So when Demetrius leaned over the table and cupped his hand around the back of her neck, she let him kiss her.

--

At one, Bellatrix rose and dressed. She had the house elves make Rolph something to eat while she went to the attic and unearthed the familiar brown bag she'd buried the month before. The contents were untouched: one vial of Basilisk venom, one Seeing Stone, and a set of two-way mirrors. She whirled her wand around the bag and transformed it into a wrapped box; with a grin, she added a sardonic little bow to the top.

Back in the bedroom, Rolph was elbow-deep in his brunch, crumbs tumbling out of the corner of his mouth and onto the bed.

"Ugh, you _pig,"_ she groaned, shoving him over with her hips. In a flash of silliness he rarely displayed, Rolph opened his mouth wide and poked out his food-littered tongue. Bellatrix made a face. "Keep it up and I won't give you your wedding present."

He raised his eyebrows. "Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

She smiled, brushing her thumb along his mouth. "Yes."

"Do you have to be naked to use it?"

Bellatrix laughed, reaching down to pull up the wrapped box. "Once we're married, a general rule will be that anything done in the home must be done naked." She handed him the gift. "Open it."

"You know we're not getting married until December," he noted, before tearing into the paper like a child, and when he reached in his face lit. "_Bellatrix,"_ he breathed, looking up at her. "You _do_ care."

She grinned. "Now, let's not get ahead of ourselves," she replied diplomatically. "If you die, who's going keep me warm at night? No, these gifts are for _me_."

"Liar," he told her, his eyes sparkling. He pushed the tray of food off the bed and it clattered to the floor; gingerly, he tucked the Basilisk venom into a nook by his head and dragged her, laughing, onto his lap. "Say you love me."

Bellatrix pouted. "No."

His grip tightened, his nails making little moons on her skin "_Say it,"_ he growled, and though her arm was beginning to hurt she gasped, "No."

In a move that startled both of them, Rolph flipped them so that she was on her back and he crouched on top of her, his hair dangling in his face and giving him a slightly wild look. "Say it, Bellatrix," he demanded, his voice low. He hand went around her throat and he squeezed, lightly but threateningly, enough to make her wheeze when she tried to inhale.

She was quiet for a long time, drinking in the sight of him, and when he leaned down close enough that they were breathing the same air she whispered, "I love you," and then let him crash down onto her.

--

Andromeda let Demetrius walk her back to Hogwarts. Ted Tonks was standing outside the Great Hall as they passed and gave her such a look that she dropped Demetrius' hand, a light flush creeping along her neck.

"I'm glad you let me take you out," he told her, snaking an arm around her waist and tugging her lightly to him. "After your sister's party this summer I didn't think you liked me."

Andromeda forced a smile. "Of course I like you," she laughed, slipping into the game face she wore for all of her parent's galas and social obligations. It was a familiar set of rules. (Druella Black's Guide to Womanhood, step eight: treat society like you would a growling dog: with control, awareness, and confidence you don't feel. You must never show your fear.) "But a girl can't give too much away on the first date."

Demetrius grinned. He stopped walking and spun in front of her, blocking her path. He dropped his voice as he asked, "What about on the second?"

Andromeda flushed. She could feel the eyes of the scattered students on her—the fourth year standing by the suit of armor and the firstie hiding behind the overgrown fern in the corner, the Ravenclaw who was peaking over the top lip of her book and Ted Tonks, standing frozen by the doors of the Great Hall, his gaze hot on the back of her neck.

(She thought, briefly, of this: last week, during their rounds, her hands knotted as she made herself ask him for another Sugar Quill. _It's for my sister,_ she'd promised. And he had laughed at her, delighted, his hand coming up to tweak her cheek. She'd brushed it away impatiently. _Oh sure,_ he'd teased, _"for your sister", huh?_ She had spun away from him angrily, walking a few paces above him until he'd caught up with her, laughing. _All right, all right. I'll feed your habit, against my better judgment. But when your mother kicks you out of the house for being a sugar addict, don't point any fingers at me._ She hadn't wanted to, but she'd laughed.)

Demetrius was still looking at her. She shut off her brain and allowed herself to fall back on an autopilot born of seventeen years of training. "Well," she breathed, leaning into Demetrius and bringing her mouth close to his, "that depends."

He was frozen, unprepared for her proximity, and his voice was strangled as he choked out, "On what?"

Andromeda laughed, tipping back onto her heels. "On how much you impress me," she teased coyly, and then danced around him, knowing he would follow her without even looking back.

(She wasn't sure if she could have, anyway; she could still feel so many pairs of eyes on her, and there it was again, Tonks' voice laughing, _you're the prettiest girl I know._)

With a determined scowl, she viciously shoved him out of her head.

--

The light was fading by the time Lucius got her back to Hogwarts. He held her hand (in_ public!_) until they got to the small courtyard in front of the castle and they stood in silence for a moment, Lucius idly playing with the tip of a loose strand of hair.

Narcissa fought the urge to rock on her heels; it was a nasty habit she'd picked up from Sirius the summer before and hadn't quite been able to rid herself of just yet. Lucius pulled her forward and kissed her, for only the second time; unlike the first, this kiss was brief, almost cold, an afterthought before he stepped back and smiled at her.

"You're so young," he marveled as a leaf fell onto her shoulder.

She frowned at him. "Hardly," she argued, and straightened, trying to look taller. "I'm fifteen."

He laughed fondly. "I'll write to you," he said, but he was already turning away. By the time she managed to respond, "I'll write back," he was gone.

--

"I don't _want_ to go to dinner with that unforgivably fat hippogriff," Bellatrix whined, pulling her dress robes over her head as her mother paced before her.

"I don't care what you want," Druella snapped. "Your behavior towards Deidre Bulstrode yesterday was completely embarrassing. I don't care if you have to go into the restaurant on your _knees_ begging for forgiveness. You'll do what you have to. Do you understand?" She stopped walking and turned to face her daughter, one eyebrow raised in the air and both arms folded across her chest.

Bellatrix made a face. "Understand? No, sorry. Maybe if you repeated yourself—slowly this time so that I could keep up." There was a soft knock on the door and Bellatrix sagged in relief. "That's Rolph," she gasped gratefully, pulling the door open and launching herself at the man in question with uncharacteristic abandon. "Get me out of here before I _Avada_ her myself," she hissed into his ear, and felt him chuckle against her.

Druella nodded to him and swept out, saying nothing in greeting except, "Make her see reason."

Before he could speak, Bellatrix detached herself from him and snapped, "I am _not_ crawling back to Deidre Bulstrode."

Rolph didn't answer for a minute, but she felt his hands gently lacing up her dress robes. "You know," he mused in a quiet voice, "it wouldn't hurt to have the daughter of the Undersecretary to the Minister in our pockets. It could help our . . . Friend."

Bellatrix sighed. "Fine," she muttered darkly. "I'll apologize. But I'm only doing it once, and if she doesn't accept it we're out of there and leaving her and that lard she calls a husband with the bill."

Rolph rolled his eyes. "Look at you, making a compromise. Andromeda would be proud."

--

Ted was late for rounds. Andromeda supposed she shouldn't have been surprised; he was rarely punctual for class. Still, he'd been surprisingly timely for the past few weeks, and she'd gotten used to rounding the corner to find him already waiting for her, looking at his watch and tapping his foot.

He didn't apologize when he finally emerged, ten minutes behind schedule, just offered a strained flash of a smile and grunted, "Let's go."

For the first few minutes they walked in silence, a treat Andromeda decided to enjoy and not over-think. It was obvious he was upset over something, but it was none of her business. And anyway, hadn't it been _her_ rule that they don't speak to each other unless strictly necessary?

Tonks was fidgeting with his hands, a mirror image of Sirius trying to control himself, so after half an hour she took pity. "All right," she said. "Go ahead. Say it."

He glanced at her, opening his mouth as if to feign ignorance, but one look at her face changed his mind. He stopped walking. "Demetrius Selwyn?" He asked at last, sounding vaguely appalled. "_Really_? Is this another one of those bizarro insecurity things?"

Andromeda frowned. "What do you mean?"

Tonks cast her an impatient look. "You don't think you can do better?" he asked, looking genuinely puzzled. "Is that it?"

She raised an amused eyebrow. "I'm almost sure I can't. Demetrius belongs to one of the most influential Wizarding families." She paused thoughtfully. "I suppose the Malfoys and the Lestranges might carry more weight than the Selwyns, and the Bulstrodes have somehow managed to get their sticky fingers all over the Ministry, but other than that . . . Demetrius is a fairly solid choice."

Tonks was staring at her, his jaw loose, eyes blinking several times. "That's sick," he managed at last. "You're . . . you're talking about love like it's a mathematical equation."

Andromeda took a step back, suddenly uncomfortable. "Easy, Tonks," she said quickly. "Nobody's talking about love, here. We're talking about marriage. _Big_ difference."

He frowned. "Andromeda," he said slowly, using her full name for the first time, "love and marriage are _inseparable._"

Sirius, his wounded eyes in her head. _I thought it was supposed to be about love._

She stiffened. "Maybe in _your_ world," she snapped, and then began walking again, quickly, as if by moving fast enough she could outrun the conversation. But he stayed on her heels.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, sounding annoyed for the first time since she'd known him. "_My_ world?"

"Don't play ignorant. You know what it means."

"Oh, you mean the _dirty world_, the one that I come from?"

Andromeda gasped, coming to such an abrupt halt that he went on for several steps before braking himself. "That's not at _all_ what I meant!" She hissed, and then reigned herself in. She always got too emotional; her mother said it was her worst feature. She arranged her face into a picture of calm and continued, "I only meant to say that you can't possibly relate to my upbringing. Kindly don't put words in my mouth."

His jaw dropped. "_Kindly_?" He repeated. "Who says _kindly _anymore? How old are you, ninety?" The edge had faded from his voice, replaced with a perturbed sort of amusement.

She glared. "Don't make fun of me, Tonks."

"Or you'll what? Shake your _cane_ at me?"

Against her will, her lips twitched. "I mean it," she warned, and turned away before he could catch her smile.

--

Narcissa floated back to the Common Room. The other girls in her year swarmed her instantly, tugging at her cloak and begging for details, but she dreamily climbed into her bed and drew the curtain. She lay back, arms folded behind her neck, and closed her eyes, summoning every second of her date and imprinting it on her mind.

It had been perfect, every detail, right up until the end. And then he _had_ been a bit cold, hadn't he; pulled away with those hateful words: _you're so young._ But perhaps he had been afraid; perhaps he felt that he'd let her in too far when he'd whispered all those lovely things about wanting to protect her.

Surely he had simply worried that she would find him weak if he showed how much he (clearly) cared.

Still, the thought niggled at her, refusing to let her sleep, and once the coast was clear and the other girls had gone to sleep, she pushed aside her curtain and slid her feet into her slippers. Drommie wasn't in her bed; it wasn't until Narcissa had poked her head into her sister's living area that she remembered it was Monday, and Drommie had rounds with that Hufflepuff nuisance.

She thought about waiting up on the couch, but feared falling asleep. It would be terrifically embarrassing if she was found that way in the morning, sprawled across the furniture with bed head and maybe even (just once, in fourth year) a puddle of drool. So she grabbed a robe and wrapped it snugly around her, glancing quickly into the darkness before slipping out of the Common Room and into the castle.

Narcissa had never been out after hours by herself; somehow the shadows seemed spookier than they had last year on her birthday, when Drommie and Bella had blindfolded her and snuck her to the Astronomy tower where Sirius and Regulus were waiting with gifts and cake that none of the girls had touched. (Well—okay. Bella had a piece. Or two.)

(Or four.)

She crept along the hallways, ducking into corners whenever she heard footsteps. And then at last, the familiar sound of her sister's voice.

"I mean it," she was saying, a warning in her tone.

A deeper voice, laced with laughter, responded. "I just don't understand. Demetrius Selwyn is _the_ most stuck-up ass I have ever met."

Drommie sighed. There was an unmistakable shade of bitterness in her words as she replied, "I _told_ you. He comes from a good family. And he's perfectly nice to me; he just doesn't like you because you're a Mud. . ." her voice faded. "I'm sorry."

Narcissa frowned, not understanding. Her sister had been about to say _Mudblood_. Why was she apologizing? Surely Tonks knew that was what he was. Sirius's face flashed into her mind and her frowned deepened. What was going on with the people in her family?

"I hardly notice anymore," Tonks said, but the accompanying laughter was weak.

Narcissa took the awkward lull to step into the light, pulling her robe tighter around her. Tonks and Drommie were standing an almost uncomfortable distance apart, all hands either shoved into pockets or clasped in front, knuckles white. She didn't spare Tonks a glance.

"Drommie," she greeted before her sister could speak, "I _have_ to talk to you. It's life or _death_."

Under his breath, Tonks muttered, "You have split ends?"

Both Narcissa and Drommie sent him cutting glances, and he began whistling, his eyes snapping up to the ceiling as if fascinated by what he couldn't see there. "He's joking," Drommie assured her as Narcissa's hand went automatically to her head. "I told you. He thinks he's funny. Just ignore it. What's the matter?"

Narcissa shook her head. "Not in front of _him_," she hissed disdainfully. "Somewhere private."

Drommie sighed and looked over Narcissa's head. "Go ahead," Tonks said, as if either of them needed permission from _him._ "I can finish up. There's not much left to do."

Her sister wavered for a moment and then flashed a grateful smile. "Thanks."

But she sounded—surely Narcissa had this wrong—_disappointed._

--

" . . . terrible headache," Bellatrix was saying, squeezing Rolph's hand so tightly beneath the table that her fingernails were drawing blood. With his free hand, he calmly reached out and took a hold of his wine glass, sipping it with composure she could tell by the throbbing vein in his neck that he didn't feel. "That's why I was so terrible yesterday. I feel just awful about it."

Deidre smiled, her toady little face scrunching up like she was trying to pop one of her enormous zits with willpower alone. Bellatrix tried not to show that she was gagging. "Of course I understand," Deidre crowed, reaching out a hand to cover Bellatrix's own. "Weddings can be _so_ stressful. I remember with mine I was an absolute _mess_ the days before it. You're forgiven, Bella, darling."

"Fabulous," Bellatrix breathed, weak with relief. "Well. I'm glad we cleared that up. Now, on that note, I'm afraid Rolph and I must be off—"

"_Off?"_ Deidre interrupted, her lips curling into a terrifying smile. "No no _no!_ You've only just gotten here! You don't want to be rude again, do you? I'm not sure how much forgiveness I have in me for just one day." Then she fluttered her eyelashes in Rolph's direction. "Of course I understand if your handsome fiancé has business he has to attend to, but surely _you_ can spare an evening, Bella."

Beneath the table, Rolph began squeezing back with equal strength. He looked faintly queasy. He tried to stand, but Bellatrix locked her elbow and refused to let him move. She leaned in and hissed through unmoving lips, "If I'm stuck here, _you're_ stuck here, you traitor!"

He send her a furious glare but didn't move to rise again and instead answered fluidly, "And be denied the pleasure of your company, Deidre? Not even the Minister himself could pull me away."

Deidre laughed, a honking, table-shattering sound, and pressed a flattered hand to her chest. "You know my father is the Undersecretary," she cooed, leaning in closer to Rolph.

"Really?" Rolph replied, feigning surprise. "Bella, darling, did you know that?"

"I hadn't the faintest idea," Bellatrix lied easily, swallowing her disgust to smile at Deidre. "That must be interesting work. You know Rolph here is thinking of doing Ministry work. With connections like yours, I'm sure you know all about open job opportunities, don't you Deidre?"

The Bulstrode smiled, fluttering her eyelashes at Bellatrix's fiancé like she wasn't a newly married woman. On the plus side, she paid no more attention to Bellatrix than she might have a house elf and focused instead on flirting with Rolph, laying her hand on his arm and subtly unbuttoning the first clasp on her blouse so that her enormous chest was practically spilling out.

Bellatrix fixed a smile on her face and focused on counting backwards from one thousand.


	9. one minute, i held the key

Author's Notes: Ummm, so, don't get mad at me for this chapter. That is all.

Ancient and Most Noble

**one minute, i held the key**

_Bella,_

_Fall has really come to Hogwarts. It's beautiful here, although you both know and fail to appreciate that. The Giant Squid has made his first appearance of the year—first years from Hufflepuff thought he'd be clever yesterday and go swimming, despite the cold. I don't think I've ever seen Professor Slughorn so alarmed._

_Mother tells me that the wedding plans are coming along. She wants to know if I'm bringing Demetrius. But I feel so awkward asking—inviting someone to a wedding is such an … implication, and the last thing that I need is Demetrius Selwyn thinking that our relationship is going anywhere past Hogwarts._

_I know you'll disapprove, but I can't help it, Bells. I can't marry him. I just can't._

Andromeda stopped writing, her hand hovering the small dot of a period at the end of her sentence. She frowned, her own words surprising her. Just last night she had told Ted Tonks with utmost certainty that Demetrius was a candidate for marriage, that his family connections and impending inheritance were more than enough reason to tie herself to him for the rest of her life.

And yet this morning, hunched over her desk, the thought of sealing her fate with his had made her oddly dizzy, and Ted Tonks**'** voice kept running determinedly through her head: _you don't think you can do better?_

But that was silly. Of course she couldn't—social influence and a burgeoning Gringotts account were matters of mathematics. It was that simple. She shook her head. She was letting them get to her—Tonks, Sirius, even Narcissa with her love-struck eyes and persistent smile.

With a determined strike, she blacked out the blasphemous words and wrote instead:

_After all, half the fun is in keeping him guessing, isn't it?_

She imagined Bella reading the words and a shiver slipped through her. Bella would like that line. She could see her laughing over it, the image sharp and crisp, down to the approving smirk across her mouth. _Oh, Meda,_ she would laugh in her reply. _I __am__ wearing off on you!_

Andromeda sighed, casting the parchment to the side. She was too tired to continue, too distracted to think of things to amuse her sister with. Bellatrix, tangled up in wedding plans that bored her silly and captivity with their mother as jailor, didn't need to hear Andromeda whine about her feelings.

After all, Druella Black's Guide to Womanhood, step nine, stated clearly: when you want to cry is when you must laugh the loudest. Tears are unbecoming, and emotion makes you weak.

She pushed herself away from the small desk and stood, stretching up onto her toes. It was seven-ten, and the other girls were beginning to rise; she'd woken early from a dream and hadn't been able to fall back asleep. With a weary glance at the clock, Andromeda slipped into her school robes and pulled her hair back into a loose braid like the one she always wore.

Persephone Mulciber was already at the table when Andromeda got to breakfast and patted the empty space beside her when their eyes caught. "You're up early," she noted cheerfully, pouring herself a small goblet of juice. Persy had always been a morning person, a trait that Andromeda both admired and envied. "I hope you slept well."

"Fine, thanks," Andromeda answered with a forced smile. "I just had some homework I had to finish up. You know how McGonagall gets."

Persy wrinkled her nose. "I've always thought that a cat was the perfect form for her Animagus," she muttered, with a trace of contempt. "Pompous, demanding. Not to mention all that awful shedding."

Andromeda laughed. "Don't forget the claws," she added. She buttered a slice of toast and munched it, mood rising with every bite. Perhaps she'd just been hungry. Perhaps whatever insanity had taken her over this morning, causing her to reject Demetrius, causing her to fret over Sirius's growing pains, causing her to be unable to communicate with _Bella_, the one person in the world she had never had trouble talking to, could be tamed with just a bit of buttered bread.

Right at that moment, she felt a body drop into place beside her, and Demetrius slung his arm around her shoulders. She let him rest it there for a moment, hiding with practiced ease the traces of revulsion conjured at being marked as somebody's possession, and then gently shrugged him off. He grinned over at her. "What, no breakfast kiss?" he asked, and Andromeda became acutely aware of Persy's straining ears.

"Not for you," Andromeda said primly, but let her smile belie the words spilling out of it and give him permission. She was turning back to her breakfast when he turned her head with his hand and brought her face just an inch from his. She met his gaze, not pulling away but not leaning in, and he tossed her a friendly grin, changing course and pressing his lips to her cheek. She made herself smile. "Good morning," she murmured, hoping she looked coy and not ill.

When she turned away from him, Adrian Nott was gazing at her, his eyes dark and a fist clenched around his goblet.

She offered him a smile, but he did not return it.

--

Ted Tonks caught up with her in Potions. He slid easily into the empty seat beside her before anyone else could sit and stole her book from her hands with an impish grin.

"The Women of Greek Mythology," he said, reading the cover, "Interesting. Very intellectual."

She glared at him, snatching it back and shoving it hastily back into her bag. "What do you want?" she snapped, folding her arms over her chest. "Can't you ever find anyone else to bother?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, good morning to you, too. Yes, rounds were fine last night; no, I didn't catch anyone up to anything particularly interesting, although there were a couple first year girls sleeping in an alcove in the library because they hadn't been able to find their way back to their dormitories. But thanks for asking."

She rolled her lips together and didn't say anything. Around them, tiny whispers were filling the silence, and she felt more than one angry gaze on the back of her head. She felt herself stiffen, panicked suddenly—she couldn't be seen like this, with him—she couldn't let him mess everything up now—bloody hell, she couldn't let _Mother _hear about this—

A hand landed on her shoulder, and she felt herself relax beneath its already too-familiar grip. Then the low voice: "Can I help you with something, Mudblood?"

Ted's eyes flicked up to Demetrius and then back dismissively. "Not at all. I'm just having a chat with my friend Andromeda, here."

_Oh, no,_ she thought, praying desperately that the dread in her chest wasn't splayed across her features, _oh, no, please. Don't do this now._

Demetrius' laughter sent a shudder through her. "Friend?" he repeated, amused. "Aww. That's sweet—you think you're _friends._" He leaned down, hand never leaving her shoulder, until their faces were even. "Listen, you little mud monkey, Andromeda may have to associate with you on her rounds, but I'll not have her demeaning herself during school hours."

Ted didn't look at him, but instead kept his gaze on Andromeda. When he spoke, his voice was light. "I think that's more Andromeda's choice than yours, don't you, mate?"

Demetrius laughed again. She wished he would stop.

"She's my girlfriend," Demetrius sneered, as if that explained everything.

And perhaps it did, she thought.

Ted leaned in. "What are your thoughts, Andie? Aren't we friends?"

His voice was gentle, and the traces of pity made her feel sick. She didn't need some stubborn, know-nothing Hufflepuff's sympathy. Who did he think he was? Who did he think _she_ was?

There was a long silence, in which Andromeda realized just how far she'd almost let herself fall—letting Ted Tonks plant doubts in her head just when she was supposed to be stepping into the world. Between him and Sirius, she'd almost considered turning down the best match of her year—and why? Because she didn't _love_ him?

Her mother was right, after all. She was weak.

She balled her fists, and something very small and very sad shuddered inside of her. She brought a hand up to rest it on top of Demetrius' and said quietly, "Of course not. Where did you get that impression?"

Ted sat back, his jaw going briefly slack, and then tightening. He shook his head, expression so openly hurt that Andromeda felt pain swell in her chest. "You know," he said, holding her gaze, "I really have no idea. My mistake."

A victorious Demetrius took Tonks' seat and pressed an almost angry kiss to her mouth; she kissed back on autopilot but kept her eyes open, watching Tonks walk away.

Demetrius bit down on her lip. She thought she tasted Sugar Quill, but it was only blood.

--

"OhmyGodI_heard_aboutPotionsthatmusthavebeenso_embarrassing!"_

Cissy threw herself breathlessly onto Andromeda's bed, dropping her chin into her hands and crossing her legs at the ankles. Andromeda glanced up from Bella's still-unfinished letter and raised her eyebrows. "It was certainly unpleasant," she agreed, and didn't correct what she knew her sister's misassumption would be.

"Desdemona told me everything. She said he sat down and talked to you like you were . . . _friends_ or something."

She hummed her agreement, looking back down at the parchment and wishing desperately that Cissy would leave.

"Oh, well. At least it wasn't a _total_ loss—now _everyone _knows that Demetrius Selwyn is mad about you. Desdemona said it was so sweet, how he came to your rescue and everything. I heard that Georgina Goyle cried for an hour and a half afterwards—you know she's always fancied Demetrius. Well, fancied his bank account, anyway."

"Is that so?" Andromeda asked, feigning interest. Sometimes the only way to handle Cissy was to let her talk herself out. "Interesting."

"I _knew_ you'd think so. But you shouldn't worry; Georgina looks just like her brother Gregory, and _that's _no compliment. I thought she was a boy for the first two years we knew her—that's why I kept calling her George. I actually thought that was her _name_."

"Oh, Cissy. You did not."

"Did so. Well, okay, actually that was Bella and she knew Georgina was a girl, but, well, you know Bella's sense of humour." She shrugged, unashamed, and studied her nails. "I got a letter from Lucius today. He signed it 'with love'. What do you think that means?"

Andromeda smiled, lowering the parchment so she could meet her sister's eyes. "I think it means that he sent it with love."

Cissy rolled her eyes. "Well, yes, _obviously,_" she moaned exasperatedly, "but did he mean love as in, 'I want to marry you and father your children' sort of love, or 'favourite cousin' sort of love? Because those are two entirely separate types of love."

"You did say he kissed you," Andromeda reminded her gently. "I'd hardly say that qualifies as cousinly."

Narcissa waved her hand dismissively. "Sirius kisses me all the time."

"Because he knows you hate it," Andromeda laughed. "And if he's kissing you the way I'll bet Lucius kissed you, we have a whole other issue on our hands."

Cissy laughed, wrinkling her nose. "_Drommie,_" she groaned, "that's _gross._ It's _Sirius_! He's like . . . I mean . . . ew!"

Andromeda simply shrugged, letting herself smile as a strand of hair collapsed from Cissy's bun onto her eyes and she impatiently tried to blow it out of her face. They sat in a brief silence, and then Cissy asked quietly, her voice very small and suddenly so young, "So you're probably going to marry him, huh?"

Andromeda shrugged delicately. "I don't know yet, Cissy," she murmured. "It's certainly a possibility. But you never know when something better is going to come along."

Her sister nodded pensively, picking at threads on her blanket. "By this time next year I'm going to be the only one in the house," she mused. "You and Bella will be off and married, starting families, and I'll . . . I'll still have a year before I can even officially start dating." Her expression was suddenly pained, and without warning she crawled up and settled in Andromeda's arms, her head on her chest.

Surprised, Andromeda squeezed briefly and pressed a kiss to her hair. "You'll be all right," she assured gently. "You don't need us. You never have."

There was a long, uncertain pause. Then Cissy said, "Of course not. Blacks don't need anybody, not even each other."

--

Rounds that Monday were excruciating.

--

_Bella,_

_Fall has really come to Hogwarts. It's beautiful here, although you both know and fail to appreciate that. The Giant Squid has made his first appearance of the year—first years from Hufflepuff thought he'd be clever yesterday and go swimming, despite the cold. I don't think I've ever seen Professor Slughorn so alarmed._

_Mother tells me that the wedding plans are coming along. She wants to know if I'm bringing Demetrius. But I feel so awkward asking—inviting someone to a wedding is such an … implication, and the last thing that I need is Demetrius Selwyn thinking that our relationship is going anywhere past Hogwarts._

_After all, keeping him guessing is half the fun, isn't it?_

_I suppose by now Cissy has told you about my Potions debacle. A bit of awkward business, and don't even get me started on the aftermath. I suppose I ought to be happy that Tonks doesn't bother me anymore on rounds, but I still . . . I feel almost guilty. Perhaps I __did__ lead him on a bit, only I didn't mean to._

_No. This isn't my fault. I'm sorry. You know how I get._

_Well, anyway. Cissy is absolutely over the moon with Lucius. He's been very diligent, apparently, with his writing. Good. I'd have to hunt him down and disfigure him if he was to do anything that might hurt her reputation. You know how easily Cissy can be convinced to do things if she thinks it'll get approval. I worry about that sometimes, that one day she might get in over her head. _

_But listen to me. I can't seem to stop worrying. I blame our distance—you always could keep me laughing. It's all so much more serious without you here._

_How soon can you visit?_

_Yours,_

_Meda_

_P.S. A girl doesn't play dirty Quidditch and tell, but Demetrius is getting a bit handsy. I swear, you let a boy under your shirt __one time__ and suddenly he thinks you want it like Dumbledore and lemon drops._

_P.P.S. Rolph, I know you read her mail when you're bored, so if you repeat any of that I will hunt you down and kill you myself. xo._

--

It was Cissy who organized the surprise; Andromeda didn't know what had inspired it or how she knew what her older sister needed, but when Andromeda showed up for their scheduled lunch and found not just Cissy, but Bella also sitting at the little table in the Three Broomsticks that Hogsmeade trip, she burst into unexpected tears.

Bella was on her feet in an instant, dragging Andromeda to her and clinging just as tightly. She laughed softly. "I leave you alone for two months and you turn into a Hufflepuff," she teased.

Andromeda laughed. "I'm sorry," she managed, hastily wiping her eyes. "I don't know what came over me. It's just so good to see you. I'm sorry."

Cissy was smiling, clearly pleased with herself, and Andromeda was so distracted by Bella's presence that she let her order a Butterbeer. They talked about nothing; Bellatrix ranted about Deidre Bulstrode for fifteen minutes, her unkind descriptions leaving both Andromeda and Cissy doubled over in unladylike laughter; Cissy recapped again the story of her date with Lucius (with all the details noticeably juicier, dirtied up for larger effect); and Andromeda mentioned that what Demetrius lacked in the physicality department was finesse—he handled her as if she had the size and strength of a boy.

Afterwards, Cissy excused herself to meet friends and Bella clasped Andromeda's hand as they walked. "I like the fall," her sister mused. "It has such a nice finality to it. The leaves wither, and they die. Done. End of story."

Bella always had liked endings. Happy or sad, she craved the resolution. Andromeda didn't mind being left in the dark, wondering what might come after, filling in the blank.

"So how are things really?" Andromeda asked quietly. "I'm surprised you haven't killed Mother already."

Bella groaned and rolled her eyes. "If Druella weren't responsible for squeezing as much money out of Cygnus as possible, I would have," she muttered darkly. "I just get through by telling myself that soon I won't have to deal with her anymore. And there are . . . distractions."

Her voice had taken on a slightly breathless tone, and Andromeda frowned. "You mean like Rolph?"

Bella shrugged. She glanced around, as if to be sure no one was listening, and then leaned in. "I couldn't tell you in my letters," she whispered, so softly that Andromeda had to strain to hear her. "But I'm . . . Rolph and I have joined a sort of . . . club. It's a lot of the old crowd. We wear these masks, Meda, and underneath it—it's total freedom. You can't tell who anyone is. They don't know if I'm a man or a woman and it's completely liberating."

Andromeda frowned. "What are you doing that you need masks for?" she asked, a sense of dread settling on her stomach.

It didn't go away even when Bella laughed, "Oh, not much. Mostly we sit around and talk about doing things."

"Like what?" Andromeda pressed. The spot in her chest that ached when people lied began to burn slightly, and she brought a hand up to massage it, as if that would help. "What do you talk about doing?"

Bella stopped walking. She shook her hand loose from Andromeda's and then cupped her sister's face. "Changing the world," she whispered. "Making it better. Cleaner. Purer."

She softened the words with a smile, but Andromeda shivered anyway.

--

Ted didn't speak a word to her when they met the following Monday and she didn't bother trying to explain. It was best this way, the two of them in their separate worlds. He'd somehow charmed her into an almost-friendship, but she was on the lookout for it now. She wouldn't be so easily wooed again.

He didn't speak to her the whole night, barely even looked at her except by accident. She didn't mind the silence, but the tension was nearly unbearable; the hurt and anger on his face when she _did_ catch his eye made her feel small and unhappy in ways that made her angry more than anything else. What right did he have to make her feel guilty?

It was his own fault. She'd told him at the beginning. She'd established the rules, and he had broken them. It was his own fault.

For weeks they didn't speak, didn't look at each other, didn't interact except to plan their next meeting. When they passed each other in the hallways he ignored her so totally she almost wondered if she actually existed.

And then at last, a full month after the Potions Incident, he interrupted their long-established silence on rounds to say, "I don't see why we have to do this together. Why don't you take the third floor, and I'll take this one."

"That's hardly fair," she argued, not even sure why she was bothering. "We've almost finished this floor. I'd have to do a whole new one by myself."

He shrugged, not looking at her. "Fine. You take this one and I'll go up."

Andromeda wasn't sure why his annoyance with her grated so fiercely against her chest, but it did. She fought to control her anger, trying desperately not to let it show on her face. "I'm not some first year. I don't need you to baby me." He shrugged again. His dismissal angered her all the more. "Look, Tonks, you can stop with the guilt trip. I told you at the beginning of this disaster what our relationship was to be. You chose to ignore it. That's not my fault."

He raised his eyebrows at her, incredulous. "You ignored your _own_ rules!" he snapped, removing his hands from his pockets to cross them over his chest. "Or at least didn't try very hard to enforce them!"

"That's not true!"

"Not true? Are you joking? You smile more in one _night_ with me than the rest of the _week!_ Don't insult yourself by pretending to be less perceptive than you are, Andromeda. You liked me."

She set her jaw. "No, I didn't," she said stubbornly. "No. I was just trying to be polite."

"You're an awful liar."

She laughed. "Now, that's just not true," she said, thinking of nights with Demetrius, of dinners with her parents, of her letter to Bella (_isn't keeping him guessing half the fun?)._ "I'm an excellent liar, in point of fact."

"Well, not with me."

She sighed. "I can't help if it you read more into what I say than is there. I told you before, Tonks—you couldn't understand my life. Don't pretend to; I don't presume to understand yours."

"Presume?" He echoed. "Why do you _do_ that? Do you really think you'll confuse me so much I'll stop arguing if you use difficult words?"

She opened her mouth to reply when a sullen voice interrupted, "No, that's just Meda. She's pretty much always been a vocabulary snob."

They both turned to find Sirius standing in the corridor, his arms crossed over his chest and a bewildered James Potter behind him. Andromeda gasped. "What are you doing here?" She snapped, looking down at her watch. "It's almost midnight! You have school tomorrow!"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Spare me the lecture," he snapped. "You're not my mother."

The words stung, but she didn't let it show. "If I was trying for an authority figure you'd listen to, I'd hardly choose your mother," she quipped, choosing to ignore his hostility. "What are you doing out so late?"

Potter spoke up before Sirius could. "We were, uh, looking for a book in the library," he said, batting his eyelashes at her in an exact replica of the expression she'd seen Sirius wear a million times when he was up to no good. "For a project. We know we're out of bounds, but it's due tomorrow."

Tonks laughed good-naturedly. "Blimey, Andromeda, he's about as good as liar as you. You almost had me that time, Potter. Really."

Potter scowled. Sirius was still glaring at Andromeda. She sighed inwardly. Had she been so unforgiving as a fourteen-year-old?

She turned grudgingly to Tonks. "Might I have a word with my cousin?" she asked quietly, hating herself for having to ask for a favour. "I hardly trust these boys to go back to their dormitory on their own. Perhaps you could walk Potter and we'll follow behind."

Tonks shrugged his assent, looking curiously at her. It was the first time in weeks that they're eyes had met without anger in them. "Come on, Pothead," Tonks said then, affably grabbing Potter by the scruff of his neck and leading him through the dark.

For a long time, Sirius and Andromeda followed in a slow silence. It wasn't until they could see the Fat Lady that Sirius erupted: "I didn't think you were like them, but you are, you're just like them all!"

Andromeda looked away. "They're our family," she chided gently. "And you don't understand, Sirius. You're a man. Well, almost a man. It's different for women. Our roles, our lives, our _rights _are different."

He folded his arms across his chest. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

The corridor was empty. Tonks must have dropped of Potter and gone back to Hufflepuff. "You can marry whomever you want," Andromeda told him gently, reaching out to grab his hand. "You can pick and choose what you want to do with your life. I can't."

"But why?" His voice sounded anguished, as if the thought of her marrying someone she didn't love was physically painful to him. "That's not fair!"

She felt a rush of love and dragged him to her, not caring if he didn't like it. She held him tightly for a minute before letting go, and tried not to let the tears in her eyes show. "I know," she murmured. "You think I _want_ to be with Demetrius? I nearly hate him. But I'll do it, because—because if I don't, what's going to happen to Cissy? To Bella? If I were to marry below me, you _know_ what the consequences would be. I'd never see them again."

They both took a moment to shudder. Andromeda could feel the family tree's boughs reaching her, even here, hundreds of miles away; in a flash, she could see her own branch, burned away, nothing remaining but a name. "Everything we do affects everyone else. It's all mixed up. Do you understand?"

He was quiet for a long time. Then, in a shaken voice, "So . . . when I was made a Gryffindor . . . did that . . . mess everything up for Reggie?"

Andromeda pulled him swiftly to her again, squeezing him once. "Listen to me. Don't you ever change a single thing about the way you are. All right? Do you hear me?" He nodded. "Say it out loud."

Sirius laughed, pushing her playfully away. "I hear you, I hear you," he groaned good-naturedly. "Bloody hell."

"I know you want to protect me—protect Cissy," she murmured to him, cupping his face in her hands and trying not to let her voice tremble, "and you can't possibly understand how much that means. But it's . . ." she looked away. "Everyone has to make sacrifices." She bent down and kissed his cheek. "And anyway, so far Lucius has done nothing but shower Cissy with gifts and attention, and I can't see what's so wrong with that."

Sirius groaned. "You mean _besides_ the fact that he's the biggest git in the history of gits?" he asked dryly.

Andromeda laughed. "I love you. You know that, don't you?"

He nodded, face serious, and whispered back, "I love you, too."

It may have been the first time they'd ever said it to one another.

Her smile didn't reach her eyes. Sirius was grinning, eyes glittering in the torchlight, and all Andromeda could think was: _They can't stop him. Nobody can stop him._ Sirius would run a wrecking ball through the Wizarding world and it wouldn't be able to do anything but watch.

A feeling of envy surged through her so strongly that she took a step back. "Good," she said shortly. "Then goodnight."

He frowned, startled by her swift change in demeanour, but she'd already turned on her heels and was walking quickly down the hall—she turned a corner and began running, not caring how foolish it was or how she looked—not knowing exactly what it was she was running from.

--

_Bella,_

_I don't know what's come over me. It's as if everything that was acceptable before has become unbearable. I've been avoiding Demetrius, the other girls in my year, even Cissy._

_Perhaps __especially__ Cissy. Without you here, she looks at me like—like I'm some sort of role model, like she's watching me to figure out what to do and I can't . . . have you ever felt like this is the wrong life? Like you must have been switched at birth because you just don't belong?_

_I feel it stronger every day that you aren't here to remind me. Every day that you aren't here, solid, real, a promise that I __do__ belong, that I __was__ meant for this life._

_I know how you feel about fear, Bells, but I'm scared and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'm terrified of this feeling—terrified that it will keep growing, that it will consume me, that it will never go away._

_Terrified too, perhaps, that it will._

_I miss you every second—every single one._

_Yours,_

_Meda._


	10. next the walls were closed on me

Author's Notes: Well! The newest installment, and you didn't even have to wait a month and a half to get it!

Have I mentioned yet how much I love Bellatrix? This was my Constant Comment's comment on the matter: "Haha. Bella's a fuckin toddler. And she's nuts."

Both of which are true. But who cares about silly things like that, I ask you?

Ancient, and Most Noble

**next the walls were closed on me**

"If you take one more step toward me, I swear on the life of my mother I will kill you."

Rolph raised his eyebrows, a faint smile hovering around the edges of his mouth. "Considering the esteem in which you hold your mother's survival, I don't feel all that threatened."

Bellatrix grinned, despite herself. "Please. That old bat is going to be around for a millennium. She's like Nicholas Flamel." Seeing Rolph edge another step in her direction, however, she quickly reigned in her amusement and crossed her arms over her chest. "Not one. More. Step."

"Bella," he pleaded, "you _know_ how much it would mean to Mother."

"I would rather Crucio myself than please my _own_ mother—what makes you think I'd be swayed by the thought of pleasing yours?"

"Because you know that she is the only person on this earth with the power to end our engagement."

Bellatrix's face hardened. In a single, fluid motion she crossed the space between herself and Rolph and ripped the offending dress robe from his hands, flinging it on the floor. Before he could protest she leveled her wand and the fabric burst into flames, burning until it was little more than a pile of ashes on the floor.

While he was distracted, staring at the robes, she tackled him back onto the bed and straddled him, leaning over his face with her hair tumbling over her shoulder. "_I_ am the only woman in the world with the power to end our engagement," she near-snarled, her nails carving little half-moons into his shoulders. "_I_ am the only woman in the world with the power to make you to anything."

He blinked, slowly, his eyes never leaving hers even when lidded. Slowly, cautiously, as if she were a growling dog, he brought a hand up to her cheek and combed her hair behind her ear. "Bellatrix," he murmured, "You don't control me."

"If I thought anyone could," she whispered back, "I'd never have agreed to married you."

His hand slipped behind her neck and his gripped tightened; this time, instead of submitting to him, she struggled; the ashes of the dress robes he'd threatened her with her in her periphery and they made her buck against the constraint he had on her. His simply lifted her, kicking and scratching, and flipped them so that she was trapped beneath him on the bed.

Furious, she kicked, scratched, and bit at him, struggling with all her might to get away. He loosed her neck and grabbed her wrists instead, keeping those razor sharp nails from cutting him. She knew she was making no progress; he was stronger than her, heavier; even if she managed to pry herself from his hands, there was no way she could overthrow the weight he had rested on her stomach.

"Let me _go_," she snarled, ripping one hand free and going for his eyes.

He dodged and recaptured her, letting out a breath of exertion. He knew she would hurt him, if he gave her the chance. It was why he had ultimately chosen her; the fire that he couldn't extinguish except when she allowed him to.

"You'll get dressed," he ordered, eyes dark. "You'll come to dinner with our mothers. You'll _behave_."

Bellatrix barked her laughter. "No," she snapped. "I will _no_—oof!"

His elbow crashed into her stomach, and she lost her breath; whatever words she had been trying to say were lost in a surprised exhale. "You _will _get dressed," Rolph repeated, voice low and dangerous. "You _will _have dinner with our mothers. You_ will behave_."

"No," she said again, and when his elbow again began to descend she bucked her hips and with all her weight rolled, taking him with him as they tumbled onto the floor. His head bounced once against the hardwood, but she didn't break for mercy. She hit his arm first, drawing blood with her nails, and aimed a vicious punch for his stomach. Her wrists were bruised where he had gripped her. "No, no, no, no—"

She raised a flat palm and was bringing it down when he snatched it from the air; with no effort at all he stood, picking her up in a single movement and clinging to her even as she kicked and struggled against him. He dropped her unceremoniously back on her bed and then stood back as she sprang into a crouch, glaring at him, waiting for his next move.

Their eyes met and she watched him study her. Her stomach ached from where he had hit her; her wrists were purple and tender. He had three long, angry streaks of red down his arm and his lip was puffy from a stray blow.

No, she thought, equally pleased and disgusted. She didn't control him. She never had.

Rolph reached out a hand and she batted it furiously away. "Can you ever know how much I love you?" he asked softly, ignoring the warning and stepping towards her, sitting on the bed and catching her arm gently as she tried to swat at him. Completely ignoring her struggle, he pulled her to his chest and held her there until she had calmed. "Do you understand how insane you make me?"

She stilled against him, locked between his chest and his arms. She closed her eyes. "You're the only one," she whispered. "The only one who has ever beat me. The only one who has ever understood why he has to fight in the first place."

He pulled away, meeting her eyes with ferocity she hadn't expected. "I will never let you win," he murmured, and then kissed her, so hard she thought her mouth might bruise. "Never."

There weren't tears in her eyes when she looked at him, because Bellatrix Black never cried, but they were grateful and bright as she breathed a sigh against him. "I know you won't," she whispered, licking the spot on his arm where she had made him bleed. With his thumb, he wiped his own blood off her lip. She smiled.

"I'll get dressed."

--

Between the appetizer and the first course, Mrs. Lestrange mused, "You know, you were so ugly as a child. I never expected you to become even the mediocre beauty that you have—and even given those awful clothes you wear." She leveled Bellatrix with an unreadable glare. "That will change once you become a Lestrange. I won't have a newlywed tart flouncing about in those poor excuses of cloth you call robes."

"I don't _flounce_—" Bellatrix began, but felt Rolph's hand tighten warningly on hers. Not a threat; a reminder. A plea. She sighed. "But of course I understand that the wardrobe of a married woman is vastly different from that of an eligible girl." In a lower voice, for Rolph only, she added, "But damn her if she thinks I'm going to change a _single thing_ about the depth of my necklines."

Rolph grinned. His breath was hot on her ear as he whispered back, "I wouldn't let you add even an inch of fabric to your necklines. I like looking, and I like others looking."

Druella said, "You know, Genevieve, the dress that Bellatrix is wearing right now is made from pure unicorn hair. I had it imported from France last week."

"It's lovely," Mrs. Lestrange managed through a mouthful of salad. "How does it breathe, Bellatrix, dear? It's a bit snug, hmm?"

Bellatrix grit her teeth. The thought of engaging in _girl talk_ with Druella and Mrs. Lestrange made her feel ill. "It's so comfortable, I feel like I'm naked." Rolph choked back a laugh at his mother's scandalized expression, and Bellatrix felt the soothing wave of victory sweep over her. She'd dressed, and she'd come to dinner; but damn if she would behave. Her eyes met Rolph's with unmistakable intent. "No, I mean it. I honestly feel as if I stood up right now, the people- in this restaurant could see every. inch. of skin. It's positively _indecent_."

He swallowed.

Mrs. Lestrange frowned, and her mother's nails made scratch marks in the table's wood. "_Bellatrix_," Druella hissed, fingering her wand, "Hold your _tongue_."

Bellatrix shrugged, examining her cuticles for hangnails. "What, Mother? She asked."

Druella forced a laugh. "She's joking," she said.

"I was _not_—"

"—trying to offend," Rolph interrupted, laughing loudly to cover whatever had been about to come out of Bellatrix's mouth. "Bellatrix has been spending a bit too much time with me and the boys, I'm afraid. She's forgotten herself."

Mrs. Lestrange raised a pair of unimpressed eyebrows. "I always said a woman's place was in the home," she muttered, shaking her head. "You're enabling her, Rolph, darling." Then she pursed her lips and took a long sip of wine. "This never would have happened if you'd gone with the middle girl. I _always_ said that. She's _much_ more obedient, if a bit plain."

Bellatrix blinked uncomprehendingly for a moment and then clenched her fists beneath the table. Rolph gripped her knee in warning and she spat through gritted teeth, "Will you excuse me? I've got to use the ladies'." She threw her napkin onto the table and walked jerkingly toward the restroom, her nails making little half-moon cuts on her palms.

There was one other witch at the sink, washing her hands; Bellatrix growled, "_Out_," and she fled without a word.

_Deep breaths,_ Meda-in-her-head urged soothingly, and Bellatrix closed her eyes, trying to will her sister into the loo with her. _Deep breaths. They're both rotten old hags clinging to their youth. You can't tell Mrs. Lestrange's face from the backside of a centaur and everyone knows it._

"I'm going to kill her," Bellatrix snarled aloud. "Did you _hear_ her? She talked about me like—about _you_ like—"

_Well, she wasn't wrong,_ imaginary-Meda mused, and Bellatrix could see her smile, clear as day. _I __am__ better behaved._

"Only in public."

_The only place it counts._

Bellatrix laughed, her grip loosening on her wand. Meda was right, as she was always right—even the one that lived only in Bellatrix's lonely head. An ache so strong it might have been nausea swept through her at the thought of her sister, miles and miles away. They had never been apart this long, not since Bellatrix's first year at Hogwarts. That had been awful enough, being eleven and away from her sister for the first time; but now, when _she_ was the one at home and Meda the one free from their mother's tyrannical, all-seeing eye, it was worse.

Light-years worse.

The silence in the house was driving her crazy. She was sick of the sound of her own voice. So sick of—herself. Of being alone with herself. Of listening to her own thoughts and being boxed in. It had never felt like a prison, with Meda there to keep her entertained.

But alone, it was . . .

She shuddered. She was just worried about Meda, she told herself. That was all. Their last visit at Hogsmeade hadn't exactly been a confidence-builder; Meda's startled tears had unsettled Bellatrix. Some time between dropping her at the station and meeting for lunch, a nameless, formless _thing_ had cropped up—perhaps not _between_ them, but certainly _around_; her sister's letters had become less and less substantial, all news and forced cheerfulness.

Meda had never done well without her; she _needed_ her. They needed each other.

"You aren't plain," she said aloud, angrily, thinking suddenly of Meda's panicked expression, at her engagement party, promising that she just didn't _want_ to be married yet, that she could if she did—

_I know,_ Meda-in-her-head murmured soothingly. _Calm down. I know._

The door opened. Bellatrix opened her eyes just in time to see her mother's hand come down across her cheek. The sound of the connection echoed in the tiny room. "What is _wrong_ with you?!" Druella hissed, stabbing her finger into Bellatrix's chest. "What do you think you are _doing_? You are going to ruin _everything_!"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic, Mother," she drawled. "Mrs. Lestrange is _welcome_ to try and break off the engagement, if she chooses. Rolph would never let her."

Druella laughed, an ugly sneer marring her perfectly made-up face. "Is that really what you think? Rolph is just _so_ in love with you, that nothing can keep you apart?" she mocked. She folded her arms across her chest. "Don't be naïve."

"What does love have to do with it?" Bellatrix snapped, accompanying the statement with an identical expression. "Power over a man doesn't come from _love_, Mother. You of all people should know that." She went to the mirror and gently tapped her wand against her cheek, watching the angry handprint recede. Then she turned, leaning against the sink, and smiled. "It really just comes down to—how did Rolph put it?—ah, yes. Dirty laundry. And I'll tell you what—the Lestranges have some _really_ smelly socks. The kind of thing one wouldn't want aired in their own _garden_, much less the Ministry." She reached a mocking hand out to pat Druella's shoulder. "Come now. Druella Black's Guide to Womanhood, step ten: jump into bed with a man only if you know what he keeps hidden under it."

Without giving her a chance to respond, Bellatrix brushed past, leaving the restroom door swinging behind her.

--

The moment the mask slid into place, the very air Bellatrix breathed felt cleaner. Purer. _Better._ The outfit gave her something she had always fled: anonymity. And yet here, with these people, in this place, it was her greatest freedom.

You couldn't tell a hippogriff from a squid if it was wearing these robes and that suited her fine. She could do what she liked, _be_ what she liked, without having anyone question her. For the first time in her life, Bellatrix was not bridled by her sex.

"This shouldn't take long," Rolph murmured into her ear, "and then you and I have a date with your bedroom."

Beneath her mask, Bellatrix raised her eyebrows. "Do we? I didn't see it on the calendar."

He laughed. "It was a surprise appointment. Brought on by a severe case of your wardrobe." Bellatrix smiled to herself, spinning so that she was walking backwards in front of Rolph, their masks nearly touching.

_Those are the most terrifying things I've ever laid eyes on,_ Meda-in-her-head muttered.

But Bellatrix shook her head. Not to her. To her they were beautiful, in their own way; they were twisted, yes, and eerie, but with a strange magnetism. A draw. A _call._ She always knew where her mask was; it didn't matter if she couldn't see it, wasn't wearing it; it was like she could _hear_ it, as if it hummed to her, like a half-forgotten song on the tip of her tongue.

They were gathered in the usual place, Avery whining about a hole in the back of his robes, when he appeared. There was no warning, no flash of light or feeling in the back of her neck; he Apparated into the circle without fuss or circumstance, a faint smile on his face.

He was beautiful, with soft features and wavy brown hair. His skin was perhaps a little waxy, his height imposing, but there was no madness in his eyes when he looked at her. Only power, and the desire for it. He wasn't broad, not the largest man by any standards, but every swing of his arm seemed to be pushed by an unseen force, more powerful than the strongest punch.

He could have thrown her to the ground and snapped her neck without breaking a sweat and the thought of it made Bellatrix quiver with loyalty. The same loyalty she had towards Rolph. The only two men she had ever met that could best her, that _would_ best her if she betrayed them.

The only two men that had any staying power with her at all.

The Death Eaters fell to their knees, foreheads pressed to the grass. When he spoke their Lord's voice was soft, gentle, and not unkind. Faintly amused, just around the edges of his words. He bent down, his hand curling around Bellatrix's, and he pulled her fluidly to her feet. "Why do you hide your face?" he murmured, tracing a finger along her jaw. Her heart beat so fast she was afraid it would stutter and die, spent; a thrill of goose bumps followed the path of his finger and joy shot through her at the sudden knowledge—no one else could tell who she was, hidden beneath the cloud of black—_but he had._

He had known her, had known her without hesitation, had known her without doubt.

Her lip trembled, and she thought for the first time that she might cry.

"Bellatrix," he whispered musingly into her ear. "Latin for female warrior. One of the brightest stars in the sky." A shiver ran down her spine. With the gentlest finger, he pulled her mask from her face.

The mask dangled from his hand, and when he snapped, it folded in on itself, bending and twisting into a tiny charm on the end of a long chain. At his gesture, she took it and slipped it over her head.

"You will never again be in a cage," he told her firmly, and she could have wept, her whole body trembling, at the realization that she was needed; she was chosen.

She was _understood._

--

When the meeting was over, he left with as little fanfare as he had arrived with. It was silent for a long time, afterwards; they stood like men who had been faced with gods, huddled together for a sort of comfort and understanding, seeking the heat of those who have seen what you have seen.

Bellatrix ran her tongue over her bottom lip, where his finger had stopped. "When it begins," she murmured after a long silence, "no one will be able to stop us. To stop _him_."

Cassio glanced sharply at her. "You seem to have won his favor, Black."

She shrugged, reaching subtly for Rolph's hand. "Our Lord has good taste, Greengrass. Clearly he sees talent in some and … none in others."

"Oh, give it a_ rest_, will you," Liam Travers interrupted, rolling his eyes as he removed his mask. "You're like a pair of bickering Gryffindors."

Bellatrix sniffed. "No need to get nasty," she muttered. Her free hand drifted to her chest and curled around the necklace the Dark Lord had given her. It seemed heavy, burning into her chest like a brand, but when she felt beneath her robes it had left no mark.

"Well," Rolph interjected before anything else could be said, "that's our leave. Come, Bellatrix. We discussed a date earlier, didn't we?"

Cassio smiled, but it was rotten like an old piece of fruit. "Yes, Bellatrix. Go along like the good little wife we all know you will be."

She didn't spare him a glance, locking her temper in a tiny chamber in her chest labeled 'What Would Meda Do'. But she couldn't refrain from sniping back as she and Rolph prepared to Apparate. "Yes . . . and of the two of us, Greengrass,_ I_ am going home to satisfying sex, whereas _you_ are going back to . . . what, exactly? That lifeless pillow you call a wife?"

Lucius Malfoy's barking laughter was the last sound she heard before Rolph grabbed her hand, and they Apparated away.

--

_Meda,_

_Darling. I'm worried about you. Your last letter was . . . you sound awful. Try to be strong, just for a little longer—it's almost Christmas. Just another month in that hellhole and then you'll be home, and it'll be just like it used to. You and me. And Cissy, of course; I nearly forgot that she's old enough to come to the parties now._

_Officially, Rolph and I should probably stay inside, but I won't do it. Not until after the wedding, and even then I have __got__ to do something about the boredom in the ballrooms; it's stifling._

_And if I have to spend __one more second__ listening to Genevieve Lestrange, I'm going to hex her mouth shut. See if I don't._

_Rolph says its juvenile, but I say that __he's__ never had to lock himself in the tea room with fifty old women all jealous of your youth and another ten girls your age simpering over their boyfriends or fiancés or whatever._

_It wouldn't be so bad if you were here. You always kept me entertained. You know sometimes, when I just want to stand up and rip all their hair out with my bare hands, I close my eyes and take a deep breath and think: What would Meda do?_

_And then of course I behave exactly as I want to and ignore your sound advice, but still. It's helpful. Usually it tempers my attacks, anyway; for example, last week, that cow, Deidre, tried to tell me that my wedding couldn't possibly be as grand as hers had been, given her connections, and instead of giving her permanent warts and punching out all her teeth, I simply "accidentally" dropped the Monster Book of Monsters on her foot._

_She lost three toes and broke an ankle, but don't worry. St. Mungos fixed it right up, once I managed to get her to calm down so I could take her to the emergency room._

_Served her right, that little tart._

_Anyway, listen to me, going on and on about Deidre Bulstrode when you're clearly in the middle of a personal crisis. Listen to me, darling. Read every word and then read it twice._

_Whatever it is, whatever is getting into your head and putting doubts there, it's wrong. You are my sister, and I love you, and you are exactly where you belong—with me. How could you ever be in the wrong place if I'm here? How could I not be home when I am with you?_

_You're my blood, Andromeda, and I am yours. There is nothing stronger or thicker than that. Nothing. Don't ever forget._

_I love you—_

_your Bella_

--

She woke early. She didn't have plans until lunch, so she dressed and slipped past her parents' bedroom to the kitchen. It was quiet, but for the sound of the house elves preparing breakfast; Bellatrix took a seat at the counter and began slicing a cantaloupe, flipping through the _Daily Prophet_ as she did.

"You're awake," a surprised voice noted from the doorway. She spun, dropping off of her seat in her startled hurry, and a pit of melon fell to the floor.

Her father's eyebrow lifted only faintly, and Bellatrix cleared her throat. "Oh . . . yes," she said quickly, recovering. "You startled me." She snapped her fingers and instantly one of the elves was at her feet, cleaning up the mess.

Cygnus Black shrugged. His relationship with his two oldest daughters had always been strained, in a friendly sort of way; when he commanded, they obeyed, but there had never been the helpless devotion he'd had from Cissy from the moment she was born. If anything, he always seemed faintly puzzled by both the oldest Black girls.

"Well, I beg your pardon," he said graciously, and swept through the kitchen, seating himself at the table. Bellatrix tentatively went back to the paper, but he put his hand out wordlessly and she sighed, folding it in half and handing it to him. "You know how I feel about you girls reading the paper, Bellatrix," he scolded, not unkindly. "It's not—"

"--a woman's business," Bellatrix completed for him. "Yes, Father. I know."

He hesitated. This business with the wedding always made him uncomfortable. "Listen, Bellatrix. Your mother was telling me last night that you made something of a . . . spectacle, last night."

Her arms folded across her chest and she shrugged. Trust Druella to go whining to her husband the minute something didn't go her way. "Mother tells you a lot of things," she hedged, and offered the best Don't-you-believe-me-Daddy? smile that she could muster.

Cygnus frowned. "Don't be rude. You'll behave the next time you're invited to dinner. It's a poor reflection on the family. On me." The pages of the _Prophet_ rustled as he turned them. "And since we're currently attempting to find your sister a halfway decent match, we can't have you causing scenes. Is that understood?"

Even the least attentive father learns a few things when it came to his children; he knew that dangling Andromeda in front of Bellatrix was a get out of jail free card that she'd never been able to resist. Instantly she straightened. "Yes, sir."

"You'll behave."

"Yes, sir."

"You won't give any of that lip that must come from your mother's side."

"No, sir."

"Good. Very well then." He cleared his throat, somewhat awkwardly glancing at Bellatrix. "Since that's all cleared up, have the house elves whip me up some breakfast, would you? And make sure they soft boil the eggs. If we have any more of that disgusting hard-boiled nonsense I'm going to have to add a new plaque for your Aunt Elladora's collection."

Bellatrix laughed. In an unexpectedly tender gesture, she swept over to the table and bent fluidly, pressing a kiss to her father's cheek. "Yes, Father," she murmured before hurrying to the servant's quarters.

_Isn't that something,_ she mused to herself, smiling. _Meda won't eat hard-boiled eggs, either._


	11. and i discovered my castles stand

**Author's Notes:** Um. All I can say is that I'm sorry the wait was so unbearably long.

Ancient, and Most Noble

**and i discovered that my castles stand**

"Pillars of salt and pillars of sand," Narcissa read, raising her eyebrows. She looked up. "Who builds pillars out of salt? That's just stupid."

Drommie blinked at her. "That's . . . not really the point, darling," she said after a moment, her lips twitching. "It's not about architecture."

Narcissa frowned, looking back down at the poem in her hand. It had been delivered anonymously to her during lunch; she'd recognized the owl as one from the Owlry—brown, spotted, nothing special. Certainly not Lucius's regal tawny, with its wide gold eyes and soft feathers. The title was simply _Narcissa._

She consciously kept herself from furrowing her brow, since she knew it caused wrinkles, but a petulant purse of her lips made her message clear. "Well, I know _that_," she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. "How stupid do you think I am?"

"Not at all, darling," her sister said reflexively, setting a soothing hand on her arm without looking up.

Irritation flared, starting in her belly and climbing up towards her chest. "Don't patronize me," she snapped, wrenching her arm away.

_That_ caught her sister's attention. And it was about time, too, Narcissa thought smugly; lately Drommie had been so caught up in her own life that she'd hardly had any time to notice Narcissa's. That had never happened before. Not even when Bella was at school and she and Drommie would be out at all hours of the night, up to no good, and it always _no-Cissy-you-can't-come._

Drommie frowned, peering closer at Narcissa for the first time. "What's gotten into you?" she asked, bringing a hand up to brush a few stray hairs from Narcissa's face. "Is everything all right?"

Narcissa pouted. Oh, _that_ was fair. Now she had to come up with some _reason_ for being grumpy, or Drommie would get that holier-than-thou look in her eyes and lecture about being ladylike and using her words, like she was five years old again. Well, ex_cuse_ her for living, since apparently the world revolved around Drommie and Narcissa wasn't even a star.

She looked down at the letter in her hand and felt a wand illuminate in her mind. She batted her lashes and looked through them up at her sister. "It's just that I feel so badly," she sighed, trying to look innocent. "Whoever wrote this letter is _clearly_ in love with me, and I feel simply awful about it. Especially since Lucius and I—well, you know."

Drommie raised her eyebrows. "No," she said slowly. "I don't know. What did you do with Lucius?"

Narcissa giggled nervously. Her sister had a definite _I'm-telling-Bella_ look in her eye, and that could only mean bad. "Nothing," she said hurriedly, forcing a laugh. "No, I—I didn't mean _that_! I just meant . . . you know . . . that we're serious. And that unless this letter is coming from Drake Jordan, its author doesn't have a chance."

Her sister relaxed, but only slightly. "Well, all right then. But listen," she added, leaning in earnestly, "no matter what you've learned from Bella, there's a right way and a wrong way to go about this type of thing, and—well, Bella did it the wrong way. Do you understand?"

Narcissa frowned. She rarely heard Drommie say that Bella did _anything_ wrong. "No," she said flatly. "Not at all."

Drommie sighed, leaning against the seat back of her chair and getting a far away look in her eye. "I mean about . . . well, it's just . . . you're so _young_, Cissy, and I get . . . worried. About you. You haven't had much experience when it comes to men, and Lucius is much older, and—well, I don't want to offend you, darling, but he isn't exactly an angel it when it comes to courting women. I just don't want you to do anything that you'll regret." She hesitated, and then added in a grudging, obligatory tone, "Or something that will embarrass the family."

That was Drommie for you, always dancing around the subject of sex when it came to Narcissa because she seemed to be under the impression that Narcissa was _two years old_ and didn't know all about it. Well, for her information, she was far more informed than either of her older sisters realized—Narcissa had snuck into Sirius's room last Christmas and found a whole stack of magazines given to him by James Potter that explained everything quite clearly.

So _there._

"I would never," Narcissa snapped regally, "do _anything_ that might bring shame to the ancient and most noble house of Black."

Drommie sighed, shaking her head. "Just tell me you won't let Lucius talk you into more than you're ready for and I'll let the issue go."

"I won't let Lucius talk me into more than I'm ready for," she parroted obediently, and then grinned, just a little wickedly. "But what if I am ready for it?"

Drommie's eyes got big and round, and then she laughed. "Oh, stop it, you're giving me a headache," she groaned, and snatched the letter out of Narcissa's hands so she could hit her with it.

--

But honestly, though, Narcissa thought to herself that night as she lay in bed, studying the anonymous love note, _who_ had sent it? Was he older or younger? Pureblooded, wealthy, and handsome, preferably in that order?

And if he _was_ all of those things, why would he hide his identity? After all, didn't Druella Black's Guide to Womanhood, step eleven expressly state that when it came to men, credentials first, romance after?

With Lucius, of course, she had both—or at least credentials and attraction, which was nearly the same thing as romance. And hadn't he done all the things that gentlemen are supposed to do when they're courting someone? He'd written to her, he'd taken her out, he'd—well, he'd _kissed_ her!

(And, boy. What. a._ kiss!_)

So what if he never _expressly said_ that he fancied her? So what if he'd never once mentioned engagement, or—or even exclusivity? She was a modern woman. She didn't need him to reassure her at every turn. And anyway, he was older, so things probably worked differently for him. And hadn't Bella always told her that you couldn't expect men to be faithful until they were too old for other women to seduce?

Well, that was all right for _her_ to say, Narcissa thought grouchily; _she_ had Rolph so wrapped around her finger that she could have been _dead_ and he still wouldn't look at anybody else.

She could ask Drommie, of course, but then Drommie had never exactly been in this situation before. The idea of it made Narcissa feel vaguely embarrassed; she had never understood her sister's lack of desire for a boyfriend or fiancé. Oh, it was all right now, since she had Demetrius, but anyone with two eyes could tell that she put less effort into that relationship than the Giant Squid with a bit of seaweed. Whenever they were together in public, Drommie seemed to almost be . . . _humoring_ Demetrius by letting him kiss her and hold her hand, as if it was a slightly annoying habit she just couldn't rid him of.

Well, in any case, the girl was seventeen and not even _close_ to being engaged. Bella and Rolph had been unofficially betrothed since the day Bella turned sixteen; look at Narcissa herself! _She_ was dating Lucius Malfoy, _the_ most eligible bachelor of his age, and she wasn't even allowed yet!

Of course, most families turned a blind eye to this sort of thing. A girl could hardly wait for her sixteenth birthday to start looking; it was a witch-eat-witch world out there and options were limited. (She'd been particularly devastated to learn that she was too closely related to Arturius Carrow to pursue him; he might have been less wealthy than the Malfoys but he had a smile that could put Drake Jordan _and_ The Warlocks to shame, and had once called her "saucy".)

She couldn't be sure, but Narcissa thought that Bellatrix had kissed him last Christmas beneath the mistletoe. Even if it was only to tease Rolph, Narcissa had been screaming with envy . . .

The idea struck her like a broom on her head: Bella. Who would know better how to make a bachelor commit, especially when you're too young for it to be official?

Narcissa rolled hastily out of bed and reached for a quill and parchment; it was difficult to write by wand-light, but the last time she'd illuminated the whole room that awful Susanna Jugson had whined about it for forty-five minutes, like it was Narcissa's _fault_ that she had forgotten to brush her hair before bed.

Anyway, she managed it by tucking her wand between her teeth and scrawling hastily:

_Bella,_

_I'm sorry that I haven't been writing as often as I promised; as I'm sure you can imagine, life here as been excruciatingly dull and I haven't had much to say._

_I'm sure that __your__ life is a flurry of fun activities, with the wedding approaching. Have you chosen a dress? A caterer? A venue? Oh—do you know what color flowers you'll be using? For that matter, what type? I've always thought that orchids were lovely at weddings, but that's just me. I know Mother will want you to wear her wedding dress, since it's tradition, and I ought to tell you to do it, since it's ancient and I won't go anywhere near it on __my__ wedding day, but if you can avoid it, or alter it . . . I would. It's just so ugly._

_I'm sure Mother looked perfect in it, of course, and don't you dare tell her that I said anything._

_Well, anyway. I'm writing for a very specific purpose. Today at lunch I received an anonymous love-letter, and I'm not quite sure what to do about it. Drommie said that I'd just have to wait, and in the meantime to be sure not to encourage anyone if I wanted to stay with Lucius (as if I'd do anything different! Although . . . I imagine I'd get quite a bit of publicity if I broke up with him; it would do wonders for my prospects. Can you imagine? Me, a fifteen-year-old girl, breaking Lucius Malfoy's heart! If I didn't like him so much I'd actually consider it) so it got me thinking._

_Lucius has been . . . punctual, when it comes to writing, but . . . well, it's just that he hasn't actually said anything that implies that he . . . wants anything from me. Oh, he signs his letters 'with love', but there's no poetry or flowers or . . . well, I mean, it doesn't feel very much like __courting__. It's like getting letters from a cousin or something. Rather newsy, all told. And I know you've got Rolph stuck on you like a goblin to money, so . . . I just thought that maybe you'd have some advice for me._

_I'd ask Drommie, but—well—we both know how interested she is in boys lately. Has she said anything to you about Demetrius? I don't think she's actually attracted to him at all; whenever I see them together it seems like she's just going through the motions. She even keeps her eyes open when he kisses her! I just don't know what to think about it._

_And of course there's the matter of that rotten Mudblood, whose eyes follow her around like he's a starving dog and she's a bit of leftovers. It's pathetic. I pointed it out to her the other day and she actually __scolded__ me . . . you know how she gets when someone tries to properly insult anybody; she's far too sensitive. Of course even she was pushed to her limit during the Potions debacle, but she had Demetrius there to defend her so she didn't have to do much work. You know, if he hadn't come along I'll bet she would have gone so far as to let the boy actually sit with her!_

_Well, that's all her business, and you know I don't like to gossip._

_By the way, did you hear about what happened with Eponine Gamp and me? If Drommie hasn't told you, let me know—you'll get a good laugh out of it. The girl actually thought she had a chance with Rabastan. Ha! _

_All right. It's getting late, so I'll close off. I hope you're well._

_Love,_

_Narcissa_

Narcissa read the letter over once, and then addressed it, satisfied. She'd send it first thing in the morning.

--

Narcissa glared at the trembling mouse on her desk. She'd always been rotten at Transfiguration; Charms and Potions were her best classes—which was perfect, considering that they were the primary two academic subjects used by housewives. But Transfiguration _could_ be useful around the home, and Narcissa wanted as many wands in her arsenal as she could get, so to speak.

After all, a girl who excelled in Charms, Potions, _and_ Transfiguration was destined for much bigger house than a girl who could only do two of the three.

She pointed, took a deep breath, and muttered, "_Transmata_!" while doing the proper motions with her wand. The end lit in a soft pink light and gently wrapped around the mouse. Slowly, squeaking, it began to shift and change until it became a cheerful-looking tulip, lying docilely on her desk.

"Oh!" Narcissa crowed, clapping her hands excitedly at her own performance.

In front of her, Sirius leaned back in his chair and turned to look. "A _flower_?" he groaned, shaking his head, "Really? You are the sissiest girl I've ever met in my _entire_ life."

Without raising her eyes, Narcissa's foot kicked the back legs of his chair out from under him and he tumbled to the floor. "Who's the sissy now?" she asked primly, smirking over the edge of her desk.

He glared up at her and hissed, "_Medusa_!"

Narcissa knew what was happening before it happened; he'd done it to her before. Still, that didn't keep her from screaming when her hair began to hiss and slither against her cheek. "Change it _back_!" she shrieked, hands automatically going to her head. "Get them off get them off get them off—!"

Sirius tried to oblige, but he was laughing too hard and gave up.

Luckily, McGonagall came to the rescue, sweeping in with those billowy robes of hers and silently reversing the mess on Narcissa's head. "_Miss_ Black," she said curtly, clasping her hands in front of her as if to prevent herself from inflicting physical harm on her students, "_What_ did you not understand about a _clockwise_ turn?"

Narcissa blinked. "What? No, Professor! It wasn't my fault!"

There were a few snickers throughout the classroom and she sought each of them out, glaring hatefully. How _dare_ they laugh at her! "Well, if it wasn't _your_ mistake, Miss Black, whose was it? Perhaps Miss Travers, here?"

"No, it . . ." she trailed off. If they'd been at home she would have ratted Sirius out without a second thought; but here, at school, such a thing would be ridiculed. She'd be teased for the rest of the week for running to teacher with her problems. "I mean . . . it was just an accident."

McGongall gave a curt not. "Well, then," she began, "Twenty points from—"

"I d-did it, P-Professor."

McGonagall, Narcissa, and Sirius all turned as one to stare at Peter Pettigrew, who had stood from his seated position beside Sirius's toppled chair. "What?" Narcissa gasped, as Sirius leapt to his feet and yelped, "Are you _mad_?"

McGonagall frowned. "Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Pettigrew, that _you_ Transfigured Miss Black's hair?"

He hesitated. "Um . . . yes."

"And how, exactly," the woman continued, her gaze boring into Pettigrew's own, "did you manage to miss your target so _completely_ as to hit Miss Black?"

"I . . ." his eyes cast about him desperately as he frantically pulled at a loose string on his tie. "I was . . . I mean . . ."

Sirius's eyes darted back and forth between Narcissa and Pettigrew, and at last he sighed. "Oh, for Merlin's sake," he grumbled, righting his chair. "I did it, Professor—"

"No, no," a voice on their left said, and when Narcissa turned she found herself staring at a contrite-looking Remus Lupin. "It was me. I did it. I'm sorry, Professor."

"Now, now, Moony, what have I told you about lying?" a cheerful James Potter asked, ruffling Lupin's hair. "It was _me_, Professor, _I_ Transfigured her hair. Not a bad job of it either, eh?" In a lower voice he added, "That style wouldn't look bad on Snivellus."

McGonagall sighed, bringing her hand to her head and attempting to rub away a headache. "Well, since the four of you can't seem to decide just who is guilty, we'll split the punishment and take five points from Gryffindor for each of you. Now get _back_ to work!"

She spun on her heel and marched back to her desk, silencing any talk with a sharp glare. When she sat down, she began furiously munching on biscuits and muttering, "Trouble, all of them . . . Blacks . . . Pettigrews . . . Lupins . . . _Potters_ . . ."

Sirius glanced back at her, grinning. "I find it offensive that we were mentioned first, and without the emphasis she gave James," he murmured to her, his lips barely moving. "I think we're _far_ more trouble than him."

"Maybe _you_ are," she whispered back. "_I'm_ perfectly charming."

Sirius snorted. "_I'm_ perfectly _chaaarming_," he mimicked, his voice high-pitched and squeaky.

She opened her mouth to retort when Pettigrew stepped in again with an embarrassed mumble: "Shut it, Sirius."

Narcissa and Sirius turned to look at Pettigrew, and Sirius cried, "What is _with_ you? Do you _fancy_ her or something?"

Pettigrew turned bright red and Narcissa smiled faintly. She wouldn't be surprised if he did. She was the prettiest girl in their year, and Sirius spent enough time harassing her that Pettigrew had certainly gotten a close look. And after all, what wasn't to like?

"Shut up," Pettigrew hissed again, flushing dark red.

When it became clear that no one was going to spout the plentiful reasons why Narcissa was a desirable and charming young lady, she disappointedly decided to take pity. "Be nice, Sirius," she scolded lightly, and tossed Pettigrew a smile that she calculated to be friendly, kind, and _just_ a little condescending. "Thank you . . . um . . ."

Sirius rolled her eyes and sent her a knowing look. "You know very well his name is Peter," he told her flatly.

She ignored him. "Oh! Yes. Peter. Of course. I'm so sorry."

He beamed at her. "It's okay. People forget my name all the time." At her raised eyebrows, he blushed again, and ruthlessly shoved a snickering Sirius.

To her right, Melanie Travers murmured with a giggle: "Looks like you've got an admirer."

Narcissa didn't let herself smile. Instead, she heaved a sigh, flicked her hair over her shoulder, and said, "Oh, _another_ one? Do you really think? I'll never be able to keep them all in order." Then, with studied carelessness, she shrugged and went back to Transfiguring her tulip.

--

Narcissa was halfway to the library when the collision happened; her quills and books went flying everywhere, and if she were anyone else she'd have sworn until she ran out of words, but since she'd been brought up _properly,_ she bit her lip until it bled and barked out, "Watch where you're _going!"_

A mass of red hair huffed at her and shoved a stack of books at her so roughly she lost her breath. "Why don't _you_ watch where _you're_ going?"

Offended, Narcissa opened her mouth to respond when a familiar voice slid between them: "It's all right, it was just an accident. Hello, Narcissa."

She looked around the bush of red and met Severus Snape's squinty eyes. Narcissa repressed a shudder; he'd always made her skin crawl, with his darkly intense glare that seemed to look right through her, and _not_ in a pleasant way. "Severus," she greeted stiffly. "Tell your Mudblood to be more careful next time."

Lily Evans—the girl beneath the absolute _mane_ of red hair—huffed furiously. "_Tell his_ . . . I don't _belong_ to anyone!"

Narcissa ignored her. Mother said that was the only way to deal with the creatures; they were volatile, easily offended. It was in their blood to be naturally barbaric. "I didn't see you at Hodsmeade, Severus. Didn't you want to explore the Shrieking Shack with the others?"

Severus' expression darkened. "Actually—" he began before Evans cut him off.

"Shut _up_, Severus. I told you what I thought of theory of yours."

Narcissa's eyebrows rose. "You let her talk to you like that?" she asked disapprovingly, and Severus' eyes slide sideways towards Evans. He stiffened. "I don't mean to tell you how to control your pets, but—"

Evans let out an odd, strangled noise. "_Pet_?" she repeated, taking a step forward and clenching her fists, "_Pet?!_"

"It's just a joke," Severus interrupted quickly, grabbing her and pulling her back. Narcissa sniffed. So poorly behaved. And _clearly_ without a sense of humor. "It's just this Slytherin in-joke, it's not a big deal, Lily. Calm down."

The Mudblood spun to glare at him, hands on her hips. "If you think that's funny . . ." she growled in a low voice.

"No," he said hurriedly, glancing nervously over Evans' shoulder at Narcissa. She raised an eyebrow at him. Why _wouldn't_ he think it was funny? She still giggled when she heard it; Edmund MacMillan had first told it to her, a few weeks ago. It went: _One day a wizard's pet monkey went missing. He put an ad in the _Prophet_ for its return that offered a reward. Three days later, there was a knock on his door. When he opened it, a man was standing with a Mudblood sitting forlornly in front of him. 'Can I help you?' the wizard asked, and the man replied, 'I've come for the reward." He pointed to the kid and read off the list: "'Lost pet. Dirty, missing two teeth, small for his kind. Likes playing fetch and a warm glass of milk.'"_

Narcissa sighed. It was sad but fascinating, watching Severus get bullied by someone so far below him, rather like watching Auntie Elladora behead her latest house-elf.

Evans threw her hands up in a huff and spun on her heel, storming furiously away without looking back, her ponytail swinging. Narcissa raised her eyebrows. "Well. _Someone's_ Mother didn't teach her the proper way to make a dramatic exit," she said, feeling generous enough to offer Severus a smile.

But he didn't smile back. "That's not funny," he told her sharply. "Now she's going to be in a right mood for the rest of the day."

Narcissa frowned, drawing back. "It's not _my_ fault she doesn't have a sense of humor!" she cried. What _was_ it with everyone blaming her for their problems? Like it was somehow _her_ fault that Severus' Mudblood was moody. Or Sirius, taking his Mommy issues out on her. Just because _he_ wanted to upset his mother by befriending blood-traitors and mud monkeys didn't mean _she_ did. Not to mention Drommie, who'd been short with her that morning just because she wanted to talk about Demetrius.

Honestly, what sort of a girl _didn't_ want to talk about boys?

"Well, it's all right," she said generously, and smiled again. Discovering that she had another admirer during Transfiguration had put her in a good mood, so she reached out and placed her hand on his arm. "Listen, Severus. I'm just on my way to lunch. Are you hungry?"

When he smiled, she wondered briefly if her being so close to another man would make Lucius jealous, and then firmly decided that she didn't care.

--

They sat with Rosalind Selwyn and Susanna Jugson, who still had not forgiven her for the Eponine Gamp incident. Amycus and Alecto Carrow came once they started dessert, which surprised nobody, since both of them looked more like pigs than people.

They were talking about Edmund Macmillan, who has been rumored to be seen kissing Lavinia Burke behind one of the bookshelves in the library three days ago. "Her parents will be pleased," Rosalind said cheerfully, pushing around the cake on her plate as if she was actually going to eat it. "Last I heard they were talking to the Gibbonses about making a match with Horatio."

"The Macmillans are twice as wealthy as the Gibbonses," Alecto noted, taking a bite out of the tart she held in her right hand and washing it down with the strawberry she held in the other.

"Though the Macmillans have quite a few blood-traitors," Amycus added.

Narcissa thought that Edmund Macmillan had a bit of a large nose, though she didn't mention it. It was easy for _her_ to tout looks as an essential factor when she had Lucius Malfoy interested. Others weren't as fortunate, and Narcissa tried to be sensitive to the misfortune of others as long as it didn't cost her anything.

"Well, every family has a few black sheep," Susanna murmured diplomatically. Nobody met anybody's eyes for a moment, though there was a collective feeling of dislike for Susanna for bringing up relatives that they'd all rather forget.

Alecto glanced up from her desserts and commented snidely, "I suppose you're right. Take the Snapes, for example."

Narcissa straightened as, beside her, Severus stilled. He hadn't contributed much to the conversation, but at the mention of his name, looked up. "What did you say?"

Alecto shrugged. "Well, our father's a Muggle, isn't he?" she asked mildly, blinking at him.

Nobody said anything, but Narcissa thought that Alecto was dangerously close to Snape whipping out his wand. His hand twitched toward his robes, and she had spent enough time with Sirius to know what that meant. "Don't be nasty, Alecto," she scolded, putting hand over his and casting him a disapproving look. She was _not_ going to be caught in the middle of an actual _duel._ It was _too_ embarrassing. "Your family is hardly spotless, and Severus has contributed a great deal to the Slytherin house."

Susanna looked at her like she approved, which made Narcissa petulantly regret her course of action. Like she needed a _Jugson's _approval.

Still. Drommie would have been proud, so that was something. She would be sure to tell her about it later.

Amycus took a swig of juice and then wiped the liquid off his mouth before coming to his sister's defense, shifting closer to her as he did. When together, they almost looked like one person. "_You_ shouldn't exactly talk, Narcissa," he said pleasantly. "_Your_ family is practically a _breeding ground_ for blood-traitors."

Her jaw dropped open. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. Of course it wasn't true; Narcissa had been _taught. _"I don't know what you're talking about," she said stiffly, "And you had better watch your tongue."

"Just look at Sirius," Amycus stated, nodding towards the Gryffindor table.

"Sirius is not a blood-traitor," Narcissa seethed. "He only went to Gryffindor to upset his mother."

"And then befriended a _Potter_," Alecto scoffed.

Rosalind looked back and forth between them like she was watching a Quidditch game; Susanna simply appeared uncomfortable. Severus, perhaps still bitter over the stab at his parentage, muttered, "At least Potter, toerag that he is, actually looks like a human _being._"

"Shut your mouth, you _halfsie_," Amycus snapped.

"Perhaps we're all a little tense," Susanna said.

"Shut up," Severus, Alecto, and Rosalind told her at once.

"Take it _back_," Narcissa hissed, rising. "Apologize right _now_ or I will hex those little pig noses right _off!_"

In some ways, she realized, she really did resemble Bellatrix.

Alecto stood with her, but only came up to her shoulders. Her little eyes got even smaller and buggier when she glared. "I won't," she snapped. "It's the truth. Your whole family is dying, anyway - three girls, and only _Sirius_ to carry on the family name? You might as well marry a _Mudblood_ for all the good you'll do."

Narcissa didn't quite know what was happening, though she felt herself lunge across the table, and by the time she came to her senses a large crowd had encircled them, cheering. Two rough hands were holding her arms as she kicked out and caught Alecto on the rump one last time, sending the fat girl flying into her stupid pig brother.

She settled, breathing heavily, realizing with horror that she had actually _tackled_ Alecto and _hit_ her, if the other girl's bleeding nose and ripped robes were any indication.

Narcissa brought a hand up to smooth her hair and took a few deep breaths as she realized that it was Sirius restraining her. She pulled herself petulantly out of his grip and turned to face him, tears gathering in her eyes as she hissed, "This is all _your_ fault, you stupid _Gryffindor!_"

She didn't bother to wait for an answer before gathering her things and storming out.

—

Three owls arrived that night, in quick succession. The first from her mother:

_Narcissa,_

_I was __quite__ displeased to learn of your altercation today with Amycus Carrow. I can't imagine what possessed you. A Pureblooded lady of immaculate character does __not__ engage in violence--it is the resort of the poor and the classless. Always remember that when a Pureblooded lady argues, she does it __with her eyes._

_I've removed two hundred galleons from your account as punishment. Should this happen again, don't think that I won't send for you and tell your father. _

_Don't embarrass us again._

_Mother_

The second from Bellatrix:

_Cissy-_

_I heard about the fight, darling. Perhaps we are alike, after all._

_Whatever Mother says, Amycus Carrow is a fat pig with no prospects. If she provoked you, she got what she had coming. If I had it my way, the whole family would be blotted out of society like a blood-traitor on a family tapestry._

_All my love,_

_your sister_

_Bella_

_P.S. Re: Lucius, don't worry so much. Have your fun — it's never quite the same after Hogwarts. Make him come to __you__._

And the third, a surprise, from Lucius:

_My sweet Narcissa,_

_Imagine my surprise when I received news that you were in an actual physical altercation this morning. I must say, despite my general disapproval of women allowing their emotions to get the better of them, the thought of my well-raised pet losing her control affected me in a rather pleasant way. _

_Perhaps I can arrange to visit you during your next Hogsmeade weekend._

_Thinking of you, always_

_Lucius_


	12. on pillars of salt and pillars of sand

**Author's Notes:** What? An update? What is this madness?

Yeah, well. As it turns out, I still love this family. I AM ADDICTED.

Druella Black's Guide to Womanhood

**on pillars of salt and pillars of sand**

Andromeda was in the library when Sirius came dashing in, books spilling out of his bag as he skidded to a halt in front of her. He was breathing heavily, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed, and she could barely understand him through his panting.

"Sirius, what's happened?" she asked, heart leaping into her throat. For reasons she could not understand, her mind jumped to Bella, and for one, horrifying moment she thought for certain something had happened.

But that was foolish. What could Bella get herself mixed up in that would get her killed? She was just planning a _wedding_, for Merlin's sake, not the apocalypse. (Though, on second thought, one never knew, with Bella.)

"_Narcissa_," Sirius managed. "Broke. Amycus Carrows'. _Nose._"

Andromeda's jaw dropped, and she stood without thinking, her book falling off her lap and onto the floor. "She did _what_?" she gasped, grabbing Sirius' arm.

"She broke her _nose_," Sirius repeated, and a grin broke out over his face. "You should have _seen_ it, Andie, she looked like a _Lethifold! _I've never _seen_ her so mad!"

"Where is she now?"

"Buggered if I know. She yelled at me for being a Gryffindor and then took off." He pouted suddenly. "Like it's _my_ fault she hangs out with a bunch of prejudiced wankers."

"Language," Andromeda scolded distractedly as she shoved her things back into her bag. "I ought to go find her . . . she must be a mess. I can't believe she actually _hit_ somebody, that's just not like her. And actually broke her _nose,_ no less."

Sirius beamed. "It was a beautiful hit," he noted proudly. "Straight out of a _Mad Muggle_ comic."

She cast him a despairing glare but shook her head with a little smile. "Get out of here," she laughed, pushing him lightly. "Good-for-nothing Gryffindor."

He grinned impishly back and then danced out of reach, kicking his books in front of him as Madam Pince swooped in, shrieking.

Andromeda went straight back to the dormitories, stopping to drop her stuff on her bed and then knocking gently on the fifth years' door.

"Go away," Cissy's voice moaned.

Andromeda ignored her, stepping into the room and going to Cissy's bed, where the curtains were drawn tight. Her sister was curled in a tight little ball, holding her knees. When Andromeda sat down, she buried her head in her lap. "Drommie, I don't know what _happened_," she cried, as Andromeda stroked her hair. "One minute that _cow_ Alecto was going on and on about Sirius and how our family was dying out and I — I just wanted her to _shut up_ because she doesn't know what she's _talking about, _and then . . . "

She paused and then sat up, eyes red-rimmed. "It's not true, is it?" she asked suddenly, her face utterly serious. "We're not dying out, are we?"

"Of course not," Andromeda answered, on autopilot.

Cissy shook her head. "Don't patronize me," she snapped. "Tell me the truth."

Andromeda sighed and looked down at her hands. As frustratingly spoiled as Cissy could be, she was her sister, and she didn't want to hurt her. And since childhood, Cissy had been obsessed with the family honor, with all that it meant to be a Black. She loved her legacy with a ferocity challenged only by Bella's.

But she was fifteen. Perhaps it was time for her to start growing up.

"Yes," Andromeda said at last, her voice clipped and to the point, the way Bella would have done it.

She expected tears, but Cissy just nodded slowly, mouth tightening. "In what way?"

Andromeda laid back, her eyes tracing the pattern on the green bed curtains. It was easier than looking at her sister, who was staring back at her with an intensity she wasn't used to in anyone but Bella.

Sometimes her sisters were more alike than either of them realized.

"We're . . . thinning," she said, trying to keep her explanation short and to the point. "There have been a lot of girls and not enough boys that produce airs. Half a century ago there were three branches of the Black family; in the next generation, there will be only two, assuming that both Sirius and Regulus have boys."

"What about blood-traitors?"

"There have been five in the past, if you count Dorea in 1930, who wasn't technically a blood-traitor but ended up married to a Potter."

Cissy threw herself bitterly onto her pillows. "And we're heading toward a seventh with Sirius, since he might as _well_ be married to Potter," she grumbled. "Lucky number seven."

"Don't say that. It's not funny," Andromeda scolded sharply, and then sighed, reaching out to take her sister's hand. "Listen, Cissy. We aren't the only ones. Purebloods everywhere are thinning out. It's natural — there are ebbs and flows to everything."

Cissy closed her eyes and threw her arm over her face. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she asked. "There's nothing I can _do_."

Andromeda peeled her arm away and tipped her head down until Cissy met her eyes. "Yes there is," she said seriously, and though what she wanted to tell her sister was that it wasn't her responsibility, that she had only to focus on being as happy as she could and not to worry about the rest, as her older sister, Andromeda had a duty. "It doesn't matter if you marry a Malfoy or, I don't know, a _Pettigrew_ for pity's sake, or if you move to France and never come home, or even if you're blasted off the family tapestry.No matter what happens, Narcissa, you will always have Black blood in you. So even if — God forbid — neither Sirius nor Regulus have heirs, the Black bloodline still carries on through you."

Cissy sat up and leaned into a hug. Andromeda squeezed lightly, feeling a rush of affection, and then sat back with a laugh. "Well," she said with a grin, "at least you _won_ the fight. I heard you actually broke Alecto's nose."

"Fat cow had it coming," Cissy said, and looked just a little proud.

--

Bellatrix laughed aloud when her mother told her the news of Cissy's fistfight. She tried to imagine her stuck-up little sister actually _punching_ someone, and couldn't; still, at least the girl had done well for herself and managed to inflict some damage.

That night at their Death Eater meeting, their Lord brought a test. No one ever knew who would be the examined when he held these "pop quizzes", as they called them, but it didn't matter to Bellatrix. He had chosen her, he _loved_ her, and she would do what he asked.

The subject tonight, though not always, was dryly termed Muggle Studies. The Mudblood he'd brought with him was short and round, with a little snub nose and fat fingers. He wore a blindfold.

Their Lord had never chosen Bellatrix, and she considered a sport of pride: he had no reason to doubt her devotion. Still, she itched to try herself out, to see what she was made of. Rodolphus insisted that she wasn't ready yet, that she wouldn't be ready until she was less fascinated, since one had to be emotionless, detached.

Bellatrix disagreed. Her greatest strength was her fervent devotion to everything she did, and her emotions allowed her to _feel_ everything she did in a way that she couldn't explain to anyone. She had never been good at the piano, because the piano called for reigning herself in, to decrescendo and tie notes together that she wanted to keep _staccato_, separate, unique. This was no different. She would never been cool, calm, detached like Rodolphus; she wouldn't bother to try.

Her Lord understood that, surely.

They stood in silence as their Lord's eyes swept over them, meeting each of their gazes, looking _into_ them and seeing whatever it was that he was looking for. He paused for a moment on Bellatrix and held her stare, lips curling into a smile, just a little smile, and it filled her whole heart until she felt she might burst, she was overflowing with gratitude for him, and love.

She understood suddenly that this is what it felt like to desire to serve, to _want_ to be completely subservient to someone else, not because they made you, but because you simply _were._

It was how properly trained house elves must feel, she realized, and felt herself grow pleased. Yes. She was a house-elf, _his_ house-elf, and by the way he was looking at her, surely he must know.

She would serve him with the same devotion she would give to Rolph. She imagined the two of them together, hands entwined beneath their robes, faces matching beneath their masks, truly indistinguishable.

"Rodolphus," their Lord said after a moment, his voice smooth and low. "Come."

Her fiancé straightened, his hand going automatically toward his pocket. Bellatrix cast him an envious glance and then allowed a proud smile as he stepped forward, unafraid.

The blindfolded Mudblood struggled and moaned, but Rodolphus didn't look at him as he pulled out his wand.

He went to work and Bellatrix watched, hungrily.

—

Narcissa's response to Lucius was calculatedly short; she had Drommie help her draft it and waited until after lunch to send it off. Bellatrix had told her to let him come to her, so she would; she would be no eager schoolgirl desperate for attention. Let him think she had other, better things to worry about.

Since the fight with Alecto, neither of the Carrows had approached her. A few Gryffindors had whistled at her in the hallway, which disgusted and pleased her at the same time.

Sirius had been sending her owls, but she was still not speaking to him. Cousins were worthless, generally, though Regulus had taken to following her around when he though he could get away with it, which Narcissa didn't mind as long as he carried her books.

In Potions, Severus sat next to her, since Lily Evans was still not speaking to him. He seemed to think that they had forged some sort of a bond through mutual dislike of the Carrow twins, and for the sake of not letting Sirius sit with her, she let him. He was a genius at Potions, anyway, which meant she didn't have to do any work and still came out with top marks. He wasn't much of a conversationalist, either, which left her free to gossip with Rosalind and Melanie.

"I still can't believe you broke her _nose_," Melanie giggled, and then quickly covered her mouth when Slughorn cast her a glance. "Not that you can tell the difference, with that snout of hers."

Narcissa allowed herself a delicate smile. "I probably did her a favor," she murmured.

"Cow," Rosalind agreed.

Melanie lowered her voice and leaned in. "I heard the older girl, Anna-something, got _pregnant_," she whispered, raising her eyebrows. "What's more, it was with an _American Muggle._"

Narcissa wrinkled her nose and Rosalind gasped, eyes widening hungrily. "_No_! Really?"

"That's the worst kind," Narcissa sighed, and brushed the hair our of her eyes. A little stab of sympathy shot through her; with such a scandal in the family, she could hardly blame the Carrows for trying to redirect gossip. Of course, they'd chosen the wrong family to pick on, but she might have done the same thing with a great deal more success.

If they had simply _come_ to her for help, she'd have been more than happy to strike up a rumor about, say, the Jugsons.

"Well, I'm not sure if it's true. But she _has_ gone completely off the radar. _I_ heard she was sent to one of those single ladies' houses in France to have the baby, though they're telling everyone that she's 'caring for an aunt'."

"You'd think they'd at least come up with something clever," Rosalind sighed, shaking her head sadly. "Everyone knows what _caring for an aunt_ means."

Their potion was beginning to smell lovely, like dress robes and cocktails and hors d'oeuvres.

"What _is_ that?" she asked Severus, leaning in and taking another sniff.

"Amortentia," he answered with a little smile, not looking up. He stirred for a moment and then asked curiously, "What do you smell?"

Narcissa closed her eyes and smelled again. "A dinner party," she decided after a moment, laughing a little. "And strawberries, and my sisters. What about you?"

Severus blushed. "The playground next to my house," he said, not meeting anybody's eyes. "And book pages." He smiled at her and she grinned back, and for a moment she considered them actually being friends.

Narcissa had never had a real friend before. She had alliances, of course, and what Bellatrix jokingly termed minions, but not an actual friend.

She smiled again.

--

Ted was quiet on rounds, but not in an unfriendly way. She had assumed he'd continue the stony silent treatment she'd received for the past few weeks, but instead he seemed pensive.

She didn't want to risk getting in a yelling match again, so she followed his lead and didn't initiate conversation. She tried to enjoy it, but she found that she had grown somewhat use to his useless jabbering, and the silence let her mind roam too much.

After an hour, he finally spoke: "So, I heard your sister got in a cat fight with one of the Carrows."

She shot him a glare, mostly out of habit than anything else. "It wasn't a _cat fight_," she muttered sullenly. "She just . . . lost her temper."

"Is that a typical character trait of the women in your family?" She felt her hackles rise and opened her mouth to argue, but he was already laughing over her response. "I'm joking," he placated, and tossed her a grin. "I'm sure they're all perfect ladies, if they're anything like you." She stopped walking and he skidded to a halt a few steps in front of her, turning with a curious expression on his face. "What?"

"Why do you do that?"

He frowned. "Do what?"

Andromeda put her hands on her hips and made a face at him. "Why do you say things like that?"

A little smile was working around his mouth as he asked, "Say things like what?"

She fought the urge to stamp her foot. He was _teasing_ her! Nobody _ever_ teased her, it was . . . inappropriate, or something. And _far_ too familiar for Ted_ Tonks_ to think he had the right. "You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about," she snapped.

He laughed. "You think too much," he said. "Don't overanalyze everything. I say nice things when I think they're true, and I say not-nice things when I think they're true. You're kind of stuck-up, but you're pretty enough to get away with it. See?"

Andromeda wasn't sure whether to be angry or pleased, so she settled for frowning at him and murmuring, "You're unbearable."

"There you go!" he cried cheerfully. "You're getting the hang of it. Now try for something nice."

She rolled her eyes and brushed past him, walking fast enough that he had to jog to keep up with her. "Maybe I have nothing nice to say about you," she said when he caught up, and swallowed her smile when she realized that she was . . . nearly flirting.

He laughed again, and shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Careful, I saw that," he said.

"Saw what?"

His voice dropped to a whisper and she shivered as his mouth brushed against her ear: "You were almost having fun."

He jogged ahead, and she called out helplessly behind him, "…No I wasn't!"

--

Afterward, when the Mudblood was dead and Rodolphus was brushing the dirt off his robes, Bellatrix ran her hands over him and caught some of the blood on his clothes. It was sticky and hot on her hands as she rubbed her hands together, altogether foreign and nothing like what she knew ran through hers.

After all, Druella Black's Guide to Womanhood reminded her that when it came to people, and especially men, things that look the same are not always the same.

"There's no feeling like it," Rodolphus murmured, smiling down at her. "It makes you feel . . . unstoppable. Powerful like nothing else does."

She leaned into him, feeling the blood transfer onto her clothes, and kissed his chin. "I want to understand it, how it works," she murmured, and then pouted. "I tried to _Crucio_ one of the house-elves and I couldn't even make it cry."

Rolph laughed, petting her head affectionately, and scourgified himself. "You don't have nearly enough anger to use an Unforgiveable, darling," he drawled. "You're pampered little upbringing with Andromeda has hardly made you hateful."

"I hate my mother," she pointed out petulantly, drawing away.

"Your _look down_ on your mother," he corrected. Then he smiled. "Don't worry. By the end, you'll have enough to put the rest of us to shame."

--

Before they Apparated home, Bellatrix pulled Lucius aside. She had left the blood drying and smeared across her robes and brought a rust-colored finger to her mouth, licking at the tip as she stood before him. He eyes her nervously and she smiled, predatory, sinking into the smell of iron.

"Don't mistake me for someone who forgives the ruining of my sisters," she purred, reaching out to streak a slur of red across his cheek. "Narcissa may be young and innocent of your . . . indiscretions, but I am not. Don't make her one of them."

He nodded sharply and didn't meet her eyes. "You don't have to worry about that," he said, his voice tight. "My interest in Narcissa is . . . not of a predatory nature."

She raised an approving eyebrow and Apparated away without another word.

--

Narcissa brought a vial of the Amortentia to lunch with Drommie and Sirius that weekend; they had won the in-class competition, thanks to Severus' expertise, and she was curious to know what they might smell.

She was still sour at Sirius, but Drommie insisted that they invite him to lunch, so she resolved to merely ignore him and not fight. She was a grown-up lady of fifteen, not some child who bickered with her cousins just because they were useless Gryffindor toerags.

"Mmm, lilies," Drommie decided after a moment. "And the library. And … something else, but I can't tell what it is. It's nice though." She smiled. "Now that's going to drive me crazy."

Sirius took a disinterested whiff and then said immediately, "The Quidditch pitch, the Forbidden Forrest, and Marlene McKinnon."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Isn't that the girl who Bat Bogeyed you last week? You _would_ fancy a _Ravenclaw._"

Sirius clutched his hands to his heart. "We fight because we care."

"Now you sound like Bella," Drommie laughed, and reached out to ruffle his hair. "Everything has to be a struggle or it's not interesting."

Narcissa started. It was rare that she heard Drommie criticize Bella, even jokingly, but Sirius just laughed. She wondered briefly if they were having clandestine meetings without her, laughing and joking and being best friends behind her back.

That was stupid. Drommie was _her_ sister. Sirius was just their maladjusted cousin.

Still. She kicked Sirius under the table just to be sure. "Oops, my foot slipped," she said when he yelped. "Anyway, I smelled lilies, too, Drommie. It reminded me of the dinner parties this summer, when Mother was mad for them and the house always smelled so nice." Then she grinned, a little wickedly, and added, "And strawberries, because I was eating strawberry cheesecake when I met Lucius for the first time."

Drommie smiled at her, but Sirius pulled a face and mimed vomiting, which really just proved that Aunt Walburga had to have had an affair, because there was simply no _way_ they were related.

--

Andromeda slept in on Sunday; usually she got up early to get her work done, but she felt lazy when her watch tried to shout her awake, so she shoved it under her pillow and slept until noon. The dormitory was empty by the time she finally dragged herself to her feet, so she took her time getting ready.

She was tired; the night before had been spent with Demetrius, who didn't seem to care whether or not they touched at all when they were in private, but in public pawed at her like a kneazle. They'd stayed up talking, and once everyone else had left it had actually been quite pleasant; he was funny, when he was in a mind to be, and his barbs at Muggleborns and half-breeds were merely habitual, at worst. And he kept his distance, lying on one end of the couch while she propped her feet in his lap.

It was . . . nice. Not life-changing or even romantic, but . . . nice.

She ran into Adrian Nott in the Common Room, who smiled tightly at her and asked in a strained voice if she wanted to walk with him to the library. Things were tense, at first, which confused her because to the best of her knowledge she and Adrian had always got on well enough.

He bid her a quick goodbye at the huge library doors, and she impulsively reached out a hand to stop him. "Are you all right?" she asked, keeping her voice low. "You seem upset."

He looked at her for a long time and then sighed, breaking into a tired smile as he shook his head. "I'm sorry," he apologized, sounding sincere. "It's not really your fault. I guess it's just school."

She smiled, bringing a hand to heart where it twinged. She supposed it wasn't really her business what was bothering him, after all, so she didn't push. Instead she said darkly, "The next fifth year that tells me to stop worrying about my N.E.W.T.s is getting hexed, I don't care if we _are_ sisters," and was rewarded with a genuine laugh.

After a moment, he hesitated, and then sobered when he asked, "Andromeda, do you . . . I mean, you fancy Demetrius, don't you?"

She remembered then the moment in the Great Hall, when he'd looked at her with his knuckles white around his goblet, and frowned. Adrian and Demetrius had always been friends, though she didn't ever remember them being all _that_ close. "He's very sweet," she said diplomatically. "I'm lucky."

He nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. "Yeah, I guess you are," he said. The he smiled. "Well, I should go. Inches to write and so on. I'll see you at the Quidditch match tomorrow?"

"Rah-rah Slytherin," she said dryly, and he laughed as he went inside.

She rubbed at her chest again where it had stung when he said she was lucky to be with Demetrius.

--

Bellatrix tried to Crucio two more house-elves that week, and failed both times, though the second time she managed to get one of them to jump like they'd been shocked. She attempted the Imperius on her mother when Druella wasn't paying attention, but met with no success, to her great disappointment.

She didn't bother with an Avada; that particular curse would come, as Rolph liked to say, when it came.

She hadn't received post from Meda in nearly a week, which worried her. Cissy had taken to writing every Wednesday, letters filled with newsy gossip and smushed together in her tiny, perfect cursive. But from Meda she'd had only a few quick notes, each arriving after a longer and longer period.

It made her anxious.

The Thursday before the next Hogwarts weekend, she wrote to Rolph telling him that she'd be gone and Apparated to the Three Broomsticks. She didn't bother telling Cissy that she was there; her youngest sister would only pester her about Lucius and the wedding and other _terrifically_ boring subjects, so she kept her hood up as she walked to the school.

Meda was walking down alone, her cloak drawn around her tightly and her boots crunching on the snow. The first snowfall had been a few days ago, and it was caked in little clumps on the path.

Bellatrix opened her mouth to hail her sister when suddenly a figure bounded down from the castle and tossed a handful of snow at the back of her head.

Meda shrieked, startled, and slipped backward; the figure laughed and caught her, tipping her upright before she had a chance to reorient herself. Her sister spun around, furious, and shoved the boy back a few steps, which only made him laugh harder as he dashed away.

"Could have _broken_ my _neck_!" Meda was shouting, and hurled a fistful of snow at the boy's retreating back. "You're _insufferable_, Ted Tonks! _Insufferable!_"

"Yeah, but you kind of like me, anyway," he called back cheerfully, before disappearing back up the path.

"I certainly do _not_," her sister grumbled, dusting off her robes.

Bellatrix frowned, noting the little smile that was barely skimmed across her sister's mouth. She _did_ like him, and the worst part was that she didn't realize it. Those are the worst kind of emotions, Bellatrix knew, because when you finally got around to acknowledging them they were stronger than you were prepared for. They made you do stupid things. Unthinkable things.

Just look at Annabelle Carrow, pregnant from a Muggle boy and living in France until the abomination could be gotten rid of.

She stepped out of the trees, shaking the thoughts off. Meda wasn't that foolish. She would do right by her family, by Bellatrix. They would live next-door to one another, like they planned.

A flash of fierce possessiveness shot through her as she called her sister's name. Meda was _hers_, her sister, her best friend. They _belonged_ together, they _completed_ one another. _No one_ could take her away. Bellatrix needed her in a way she didn't need anybody else, not even Rolph, not even . . .

She didn't allow herself to think of her Lord. It was blasphemous, even if it was perhaps a little bit true.

As she pushed off her hood, Meda's face lit and she broke into a smile, hurling herself into Bellatrix's arms. They fell over into the snow and Bellatrix laughed, tightening her grip, comforted.

Meda wasn't going anywhere. Bellatrix wouldn't _let _her.

--

Andromeda had startled when her name was called; she would recognize the voice anywhere, but it seemed incredible to her, unbelievable until she actually saw her sister's face.

They fell over as they embraced, and Andromeda laughed, brushing the snow off her dress. She felt almost bruised where Bella had embraced her; the wedding and too much interaction with their mother must be driving her insane.

"I didn't know you were coming," she said breathlessly, offering Bella a hand. "I would have come earlier."

Bella shook her head, reaching out to brush snow off Meda's shoulder. "I thought I'd surprise you. I had the afternoon free, and I have a gift."

She held out her hand and a necklace dropped from it, dangling from her finger. It was a gold locket, heart-shaped. When she popped it open, there were two pictures inside: one of them as children, Bella making faces at Cissy while Andromeda made faces at Bella, and one of the three of them just before the end of summer, lying on the grass with their heads touching, laughing.

She smiled, fingering the photograph. "It's beautiful," she murmured, and draped it over her head. "Thank you."

They walked together to Hogsmeade; Bella refused to discuss the wedding, since she "got enough of it at home, I mean my _God_, I think I'll go _mad_ if I have to debate azaleas or orchids one more time." So Meda filled in the silences with what she could: Narcissa's fight, Sirius and the McKinnon girl ("Well, at least she's a Pureblood, _that's_ something"), Demetrius.

"He's very sweet," she said decidedly. "A girl could do worse."

"A girl could do _much_ worse," Bella added, but what she was alluding to, Andromeda didn't know. "Did you hear about Annabelle Carrow?"

"The American Muggle," Andromeda agreed, nodded sadly. She tried to imagine Annabelle in France, living in one of the halfway houses, knowing that she'd have to give up her child even if she didn't want to. "Poor thing."

Bella scoffed. "You don't _accidentally_ have sex with a Muggle, Meda," she disagreed lightly. "It's a choice that you make, to betray your family and your kind." She shuddered. "If it were up to me, they'd just abort the little monster and be done with it."

Andromeda stumbled, turning in surprise to look at her sister. Bella had always been all-or-nothing about her ideas, but they'd never been _violent_ before; perhaps a little cruel, sometimes, but she was easily amused, and Andromeda had never worried that she would _actually_ . . . "You don't mean that," she said tentatively, because for the first time, she wasn't sure.

Bella glanced at her and seemed to read the expression on her face, because she waved her away and laughed, "Of course not, it's just hyperbole."

But Andromeda's chest twinged as she clutched the locket her sister had given her, their smiling faces inside.


	13. i hear jerusalem bells aringing

**Author's Notes:** Okay. So. I am so sorry about how slow this story gets updated. I can't promise to go any faster, but you have all been so kind with your reviews and I think I owe you something, an apology or maybe some cheesecake, because I know how frustrating it is to wait.

The truth is that I'm impatient, I'm easily frustrated, and I write the way that I do anything that I love—fiercely, frantically, and in bursts that advance and retreat. But I promise—I _promise_—that this story _will. get. finished._ I am _not_ giving up on it, so please don't give up on me!

Druella Black's Guide To Womanhood

i hear Jerusalem bells a-ringing

The morning after Bella's surprise visit, Andromeda woke smelling Amortentia. She must have dreamed of it: the third smell had been bothering her. She couldn't place it.

She complained to Ted about it on rounds that night, and he grinned. "Well, what's it smell like? Describe it."

She frowned, thinking, as she peered into one of the broom closets for out-of-bounds students looking for love. "It's sort of . . . woodsy," she decided after a beat. "I don't know what kind, I'm rubbish at Herbology. And there's this sort of . . . flowery smell, too. It's not girly, exactly, but it's . . ." she threw her hands up in frustration. "I don't know, it's complicated."

Ted had stopped walking and was staring at her. "Woodsy," he repeated slowly. "With flowers, you said?"

"Yes, are you deaf?" she snapped irritably. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He shook his head and then laughed, the widest smile she'd ever seen spreading across his face. "No reason," he said.

That was what she liked about Ted, when she liked him. He smiled easily, and widely, with abandon. He smiled like it was his default expression. It was refreshing, in a strange, frustrating sort of way.

"So, marks back on the Arithmancy project," he said after a few minutes, looking pleased with himself. "How'd you do?" Andromeda frowned. When she didn't answer, he gave a low whistle. "That bad?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she muttered bitterly.

"Well, I could help you. Arithmancy's easy for me." As if he could already hear her saying no, he added, "You could help me with Runes. It'll be like a trade."

Andromeda hesitated. It was a bad idea — she could see _that_ from a mile away. But no one else in her House was even bothering with Arithmancy; you didn't need it for any of the Ministry positions, and hardly anyone bothered trying to have any hand in Gringotts beyond owning shares.

She couldn't be held accountable for other peoples' choices, could she? Ted was her only option.

"All right. But we'll have to do it at night. I'm . . . very busy during the day," she finished lamely, and ignored the knowing look he sent her.

"Fine. Midnight tomorrow? There's a little study alcove right next to the restricted section that hardly anyone goes to." He winked. "So no one knows that we're friends, or anything."

She rolled her eyes, but she smiled. "We're _not_ friends," she reminded him, and as usual, he ignored her.

-x-

There was a letter waiting when she got back:

_Meda,_

_Wonderful to see you yesterday. You look well. I worried that you would be withering away without me, but you seem to be doing fine._

_No news on this front. As the wedding draws nearer Mother gets more and more crazy — the next time she tries to mention me wearing her __rag__ of a wedding dress, I'll set the ugly thing on fire. To the devil with tradition, anyway; aren't brides supposed to be __seductive__ on their wedding nights? Rolph would probably be sick to his stomach if he saw me wearing that thing._

_I don't know __how__ Father managed it, frankly. _

_Keep me up to date on the Sirius situation. The McKinnons are an all right family, though I wish they had a few less blood-traitors. I heard Walburga is starting to look into matches within the Travers or Gibbons family. Isn't there a Yaxley soon to be eligible? Of course Sirius will end up doing whatever he wants, like always. It's one of his only traits that reminds me his actually __is__ a Black._

_I had a few words with Lucius last week about Narcissa; from what I can tell, he has no particularly devious intentions toward her, though apparently he promised her a Hogsmeade visit and didn't come through. Well, I suppose it'll be good for her not to be so pampered — she has to grow up and smell the roses sometime._

_There are so many things I want to tell you, Meda. This club that I mentioned — I can't wait for you to graduate from Hogwarts so I can tell you everything. It's not safe to send it through the post, but it's . . . it's so __fulfilling__. My Friend, he's utterly brilliant, and so __powerful__, I feel small and useless next to him. It's exhilarating._

_You have no idea what it feels like to be part of something so big as this, something that will change the whole world. We're going to make it all so much __better__, Meda, so much purer and cleaner. We're the calvary in an oncoming war of sorts, the front lines of history!_

_And Mother said my only duty was to bear children and be a good wife. Hah!_

_Well, you'll understand it all soon. I'm certain you will._

_All my love, darling._

_your Bella_

-x-

She took to doing her homework in the Common Room; that way she didn't wake the other girls when she gathered her things at midnight and made her way to the library. Avoiding the other prefects was never hard; she knew all their routes by heart.

The first time, Ted was already waiting for her. It was the first time he'd been early to anything. "If I wasn't already here, you'd have run off," he laughed when she teased him, and she rolled her eyes (though he was probably right).

It was easy to learn from Ted, because his mind worked in this wonderfully illogical way that somehow made sense despite his jumps and restarts. He talked excitedly and gestured a lot, waving his hands above his head and tousling his own hair until it stuck in all directions.

Sometimes she caught herself just watching him speak without listening, and when she shook her head and pretended that it was just the material that confused her, he smiled like he knew.

-x-

Sometimes she caught a whiff of that something — that woodsy, flowery something that she had smelled in Cissy's potion — but it was always fleeting, and she never found where it came from.

-x-

Some time at the start of December, Cissy decided once and for all to discover her secret admirer. She'd received another poem, this one called _c'est l'amour_, and she spent the morning fascinated by the lack of capital letters throughout the whole piece.

"It's not very impressive," she noted haughtily, shaking her blonde head in a way that made it catch the light. Andromeda wondered if she did it on purpose. "He hasn't an uppercase letter through the whole thing. It seems lazy, frankly."

Andromeda laughed affectionately and shook her head, bending across the table to kiss her sister's cheek. "You have no eye for poetry, Cissy," she teased. "You're far too literal."

Cissy didn't say anything, since she clearly wasn't sure whether or not she'd been insulted, so she settled for a shrug and tucked the letter into her robes. "Well, I'll have to find out who it is and have him explain it," she said firmly, and ripped a bit of napkin off the table before scribbling a note and tying to the owl's leg.

Demetrius reached over and tugged a stray lock of Cissy's hair playfully, and she batted him away, blushing. The two of them got on perfectly; Demetrius was attentive to her, kind, and the two of them gossiped like old ladies. Cissy called him Beadle the Bard because he had so many stories, and together they called Andromeda Marvin the Mad Muggle because she was so besotted by them.

It should have pleased her; instead Andromeda felt dismayed.

"I'm not _besotted_," she grouched, shoving Demetrius lightly with her shoulder. "I just don't see that they're any different from us, is all."

Her sister and her boyfriend shook their heads, sighing. "You're too much of a bleeding-heart," Cissy said, straightening up as if it could make her look older.

"I think it's darling," Demetrius mused, just a little condescending, and kissed her cheek. "But you can't feed _all_ the strays. They'll only breed."

"They're not stray animals, they're _people_," Andromeda snapped, standing. "For pity's sake, stop being such utter _snobs_, both of you!"

She wasn't one for dramatic exits, but she gathered her things and left, suddenly furious with both of them, with everyone in her House, in the school, in the world, utterly disappointed in everything outside of herself and perhaps everything inside of herself as well.

She missed Bella, fiercely, fervently, but didn't write it; for every moment that she missed her, she found herself terrifyingly grateful that she was absent, for Bella had always pulled her in, back into the world she belonged to.

Andromeda was starting to wonder if she even wanted to be there.

-x-

That night, Ted was late. He stumbled into the library with his hair windswept and his cheeks flushed; he'd snuck out to the pitch and gone for a ride.

"I like to do it when I'm stressed," he confessed with a wide smile. "It's relaxing or something, I dunno."

"You're so strange," she laughed at him, but there was no bite in it.

He _was_ strange, a fascination. A mystery that she wanted to understand, even though it frightened her to look.

"_You're_ strange," he shot back cheerfully, plopping himself down in the chair across from hers. "All right. So, what are we learning today?"

That was Ted for you, never prepared but always able to fake it. He reminded her of Sirius that way, but a little more carefree, a little softer than her cousin was. Sirius, like her whole family, like herself, could be cruel when he needed to be; Andromeda didn't imagine that Ted could even be sarcastic, though sometimes his honesty was disarming.

Andromeda sat back in her chair and watched him speak, furiously scribbling equations on his parchment and then waving them under her nose as if they would suddenly make more sense just because they were in his handwriting. (They did.)

She had an image of sitting in the Great Hall, just like this, Cissy watching them from behind her wrinkled nose. _Where did you even _find_ him, _she would say, and Andromeda would laugh, and together they would roll their eyes and shake their heads as Ted cried good-naturedly, _Where did she find _me_? Where did she find _you_?_

_Bella,_

_I'll be honest, all your talk of war has me unsettled. I like peace, thanks. Of course I trust that you're keeping yourself at least out of trouble; I didn't quite imagine you'd already be at the stage where you were actually joining __clubs__— you abhorred them at Hogwarts, but I suppose married women— or nearly married women— have different priorities._

_Everything is fine. I'm finally passing Arithmancy, thank Merlin; when my marks came back at mid-semester I think Druella almost made me drop. Of course she never cares about marks until they're bad; that's Druella for you. After all, Druella Black's Guide to Womanhood, step thirteen: If you can't do it better than everyone else, don't bother to do it at all._

_Unfortunately, I was second in my class; Ted Tonks had first, but he's practically a genius when it comes to this sort of thing so I suppose he deserves it._

_I'm sure you've heard by now about my spat with Demetrius. (It never ceases to amaze me how fast news gets home; Druella had penned me a nasty note by dinner.) Don't worry, it's nothing serious. Sometimes I just . . . I get frustrated, because I keep thinking about how I used to imagine marriage would be when I was younger, and it's . . . not this._

_Maybe I'm overreacting. You know me; I think too much. It would all be easier if you were here._

_It was wonderful to see you. I wish you could visit more often, but of course I know you're busy. I suppose our next visit will be Christmas? I can't believe you'll be getting __married__. It amazes me that by this time next year, you and Rolph will have been together for a full year, maybe even expecting a child. (Oh, all right. Probably not expecting a child; you'd go mad if you had to spend nine months off your feet!)_

_I'll likely be engaged. Isn't that absolutely mad?_

_I wonder what I'll do, besides being a wife. I know Druella disapproves of women having jobs, but I'd like to do it anyway, I think. I'd go mad if I had to stay inside all day and go to tea parties and gossip._

_Sirius is absolutely off his rocker for the McKinnon girl. Last week he Transfigured fourteen doves into roses and had them delivered to her in class — when she touched them, they Transfigured back and flew out the window. Romantic, no? I'm both proud of and disturbed by his imagination. (And I suspect he's been reading Cissy's romance novels again, as that particular trick is straight out of Destiny du Maurier's __L'embrasse__.)_

_Speaking of Cissy, she's set on discovering who her "secret admirer" is. I feel like this can only end badly._

_Yours,_

_Meda _

—

The second-to-last Tuesday of November, Ted met her at the door of the library and took her hand. She raised her eyebrows at him, but he merely shrugged and started walking, dragging her behind him, unable to complain because talking in the halls invited discovery.

He led her to the Quidditch Pitch, dark but for the stars and the flickering lights of the castle. There was a little blanket set up with books on the corners to keep it from flying away.

Andromeda couldn't have explained why the sight made her smile, except to say that she liked the way Ted treated magic, like a holy thing, not to be bothered with little details like charming his blanket to the grass.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, not afraid to speak now that they were in the open air, away from the castle and the roaming prefects.

"We're taking a new approach to the Theory of Squares," he announced, flopping down on the blanket. He was still holding her hand, so she tumbled down with him. "Because you're too distracted by my nice hair to learn it the normal way."

She frowned at him and rolled her eyes, straightening her robes. "If I'm distracted by your hair," she told him flatly, "it's because it's so unruly that I'm looking for any rodents that have nested in it. Oh wait." She raked her eyes up and down him and added, "I found one."

"Ha-ha," he said good-naturedly. "The Pureblood's got jokes!"

She laughed and lay back on her elbows, looking up at the stars. It used to make her uncomfortable when he made fun of her bloodline like that; she'd been taught since birth that being a Pureblood was a mark of honor, of pride, and he discarded the title like some sort of joke.

Now, it felt nice, making light. It made things seem less important: Demetrius, Bella, everything that came after Hogwarts. Like if she could take it all with humor, perhaps it wouldn't be quite so miserable.

"There I am," she said absently, pointing up. Ted lowered himself beside her and tilted his head to follow her finger. "Andromeda. The woman chained. In Greek mythology, she was chained to a rock as a sacrifice to a sea monster, but she was saved by Perseus and married to him."

"Romantic," Ted said dryly. "I'll bet that was a great first date."

Andromeda laughed. "I'm sure he got points for persistence."

"Personally, I think Perseus had it easy," Ted declared after a moment. She raised her eyebrows. "No, seriously. All he had to do was kill one lousy kraken and his Andromeda was practically throwing herself at his feet. I'll bet they couldn't get to the altar quick enough. There was no wooing process whatsoever."

"Well, sure, if you discount the fact that he had to _fight a kraken_, I'm sure it was one great bed of roses."

Ted waved her words away distractedly. "My point is that as far as the girl was concerned, he just had to do this one thing and that was it. It was all very straightforward: kill the kraken, get married, have lots of sex. There was none of this blood purity stuff."

"Ted . . ." Andromeda shifted. "I don't . . ."

"No, no, don't do that," he interrupted, voice tight. He didn't look at her, but scooted a few inches away until they weren't touching anymore. "I'm not trying to . . . I know that we can't, that _you_ can't, even if you wanted, which, sometimes I think, but then I'm not as sure-anyway, I _know_ our story doesn't end in . . . where I want it to end, but I just." He blew out a breath and raked a shaky hand through his hair. "_Jesus_, this is intimidating."

Andromeda sat up and settled her chin on her knees, wrapping her arms around and knotting her fingers. "If I've been leading you on," she began wretchedly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "I'm sorry. I never meant-you're a brat, Ted, but I wouldn't-I _promise_, I wouldn't, not on purpose."

He smiled a little. "See, I knew you liked me," he joked weakly.

"On occasion," she admitted. "_Rare_ occasion." Then, impulsively, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek.

He startled, hand going up to the skin where her mouth had touched, and a slow smile spread across his face, so big and bright that Andromeda's heart cracked, a little.

"So it's not me, then?" he asked, almost gently. She shook her head, pressing her lips together, and prayed he wouldn't press for an answer because she wouldn't know how to give it.

Ted was . . . _Ted._ She didn't-she certainly didn't love him, she certainly wouldn't leave her family for him. She wasn't going to be another Annabelle Carrow for him. The necklace Bella had given her hung heavy and safe around her neck, and that was where her heart was, not the hands of the boy she sat with.

But he made her feel . . . shaken.

A few seconds of silence passed, and then Ted cleared his throat. "Right then," he said cheerily, "so, the Theory of Squares."

-x-

When she got back to the dormitory, Demetrius was sitting on the couch with Adrian. They were laughing quietly about something, and Demetrius looked relaxed and almost happy, something Andromeda was sure _she_ had never really been able to make him.

She walked to him and Adrian excused himself wordlessly; for a moment, they looked at one another in the firelight and then she said, "I'm sorry about earlier. Sometimes I . . . it's hard, without Bellatrix."

Demetrius held open his arms and she crawled into them, nestling her head beneath his chin. When his hands closed around her it felt like both prison and protection.


End file.
